Connections
by aszecsei
Summary: In canon, Harry sought the acceptance of the adults around him. Tom Riddle sought to exercise power over everyone else. This Harry never wants to feel helpless again. Sociopath!Harry, some minor Harry/Fleur.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**A/N: First Harry Potter I think I can write semi-regularly. I like my sociopaths, I guess.**

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><p>Harry Potter was not like normal boys. He knew this, as did the other children around him. He didn't appear to be all that threatening: a small boy, thin, with a guarded expression, he usually kept to himself, observing from the sidelines. He was the last to be picked in the schoolyard games, he wasn't anybody's friend, for certain, but the children around him soon learned that it was altogether much better if they didn't pick on the small boy from Number Four, Privet Drive.<p>

Little things of theirs would go missing, first. Then small pranks would be played, simple ones like glue on the chair, or confetti weakly attached to the lid of the desk. If the children continued, however, things got serious.

Harry Potter had one major strength: he could _know_ things. He had blackmail material on everybody. The abuse from his aunt had suddenly stopped when he casually mentioned a letter she had sent to some headmaster of an odd-sounding school, and while he still wasn't fed very much, the chores had lessened, and he wasn't sent to his cupboard for just anything.

But for the children, things were more severe. Contraband would be discovered, crumpled-up love poems would find themselves in the recipient's desk, all things that had a common denominator: none could ever be traced back to Harry Potter. But everyone knew: mess with the Potter boy at your own risk.

Even the school bully, Harry's oafish cousin Dudley, was less ominous than Harry Potter. Sure, Dudley could hit you, but the teachers could do something about _that_. What Potter did was untraceable, and absolutely humiliating.

So the children did what had to be done, and simply left Harry Potter alone, which suited him just fine. He could sit alone on the swings during recess, and stare out at the children playing, and learn about them. Harry Potter, of course, had a secret.

He could find out things. He could look at a person, wonder what their favorite color was, and suddenly he could simply _know_ it was a certain shade of red. He could wonder what the definition of a word was, or the answer to a math problem, or his Aunt Petunia's most embarrassing secret, and then he would know. It was as though he had reference materials in his head, although that would be impossible. Impossible or not, though, it happened, and it caused other people to leave him alone, which was fine by him. He really preferred it that way. None of them were useful.

It was shortly before his eleventh birthday when the first letter came, from the strange-sounding school that Aunt Petunia had sent a letter to. He simply held onto it, and passed the other letters to his relatives, who ignored him, as usual. He entered his cupboard, filled with small trinkets he had stolen from bothersome classmates, and began to read the emerald green ink.

It was fascinating, an entire world he'd had no clue existed. And why? _Because he hadn't asked the right questions_. It was a lesson he took to heart, because nothing was worse than making mistakes and not fixing their causes. To properly use his gift, he needed to figure out how things connected. He'd had clues, since his Aunt Petunia had had relations with magic – through his mother, he discovered with a jolt – but he'd never acted on them. It needed to stop. Knowledge was power, and if there was one thing Harry truly hated, it was feeling powerless.

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><p><strong>AN: Basically, my idea is that abused kids respond very differently to similar circumstances. In the series, Harry latches on to the lack of acceptance from the Dursleys, and seeks it out wherever possible, meaning he forgives his friends easily, he trusts Dumbledore, and he lets Sirius Black into his life after only a few freaking hours spent together. Here, he lacks power, and he'll seek it out. Don't worry, he's no Riddle - he wants to be left alone, to have power, not necessarily use it. I get the feeling my Harry would see himself as a recluse God in the Mirror of Erised. Maybe he will, actually.**


	2. Hiding

**Disclaimer: Own nothing but my own twisted mind.**

**A/N: I think leaving out Harry's POV will be a good idea. Using other characters to tell the story seems to focus on the gap between them all, and that's what I want.**

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><p>Hermione Granger knew that her friend was different from all the other eleven year olds around her. He smiled at people, and behaved like every other young boy, but there was something off in his eyes. An odd silence about him sometimes, when it seemed as though he simply forgot to react to the real world.<p>

She remembered when they had discussed the house system. He had reacted when Ronald Weasely, the red-haired git, had said something disparaging about the sneaky, cunning tactics of Slytherin house.

"Ron, you play chess, right?" he'd asked.

"Yeah, of course," the ginger boy had responded.

"Do you always use a head-on attack? How do you achieve checkmate?"

"By forcing them into a corner, accounting for all possibilites."

"But people don't want to be forced into corners. So you have to outsmart them."

"Right," the other boy had agreed.

Harry had smirked. "You have to trick them into the corner, the trap you've set. Be more cunning than they are."

Ron had choked at that, and Harry had simply shaken his head. "Cunning is a virtue, as are intelligence, bravery, and loyalty. But here's my problem with Slytherin house. What's the one thing that you think of when I say 'Slytherin?'"

"Blood purity," an eavesdropping older student had responded immediately.

Harry had pointed a biscuit at the older boy. "Right. Now, if your goal is to win at chess – not to be good, but to _win_ – would you rather your opponent think you were really good, or just a beginner?"

"A beginner," Ronald had responded. "You want your opponent to underestimate you."

Harry had nodded. "Precisely. Now, what do people expect from a Slytherin? Cunning. Like an experienced chess player, they're immediately on their guard. So _really_ cunning people don't go to Slytherin because it would be counterproductive. So why would someone want to be in Slytherin?"

There was silence, and he sighed. "The reputation, the prestige. It's saying 'Of course I'm a pureblood, I was a Slytherin.' So while Slytherin may suck, cunning is something to be admired in others."

And just like that, he had done the impossible and won an argument with Ronald Weasely.

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><p>When the same Ronald Weasley had been a jerk and called her an insufferable know-it-all, she had been fine; but when he followed it up with "No wonder she hasn't got any friends," she saw it. The teasing, bullying, never being accepted. The loneliness, the crushing realization that the magic <em>didn't <em>_solve everything_ and people still couldn't like her. Maybe it wasn't because she was magical, maybe people just couldn't like know-it-all, bucktoothed, bushy-haired Hermione Granger.

She'd sat in the girl's bathroom all afternoon sobbing, and seriously considering simply leaving the school, when the door had opened and someone had come in. She told the intruder to go away, and was shocked when it was a boy's voice that responded. Not just any boy's voice, but _his_. Harry Potter.

"No."

His flat refusal had caught her off-guard, and she had been on auto-pilot as Harry had told her to follow him to a secluded area of the castle so they could talk. She was only shocked out of her daze when she heard great deep booming sounds, and saw a full-grown mountain troll in the hallway in front of her.

Harry was on the staircase when the club crashed in front of Hermione, and she gave a squeak and tried to run the other direction. She was panicking, though, and the troll had the size advantage. She felt oddly detached as she tripped and fell, scrambling to turn herself over and stare at the troll in front of her as it raised its club and prepared to kill her. At least Harry had gotten away, she thought.

And then a shout, a spell, and she almost laughed when it was the same levitation spell that got her in trouble with Ronald Weasley earlier that day. The troll's club lifted, hung in the air, and then plummeted directly on the beast's skull. It swayed and fell to the side, revealing – Harry. His wand was still out, and he looked every inch the dashing hero – except his face. It was...hard, she thought, that was the best way to describe it.

And she almost missed the words that tumbled out of his mouth. "Of all the students in the castle, you have to pick the useful one."

She convinced herself that she had misheard, imagined something, anything, because the thought that he believed her to be simply useful was more painful than any loneliness had ever been.


	3. Duplication

**A/N: This was a very bizarre idea I came up with. Not totally original (duplicate beings are also present in nonjon's A Black Comedy, and all the Harry/fem!Harry pairings [of which there really should be more]), but I think it's the first time it's ever happened to Harry in this fashion.**

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><p>There were very few people Draco Malfoy was genuinely afraid of. He was, after all, a <em>Malfoy<em>, and being afraid of someone was simply not proper. But Harry Potter had a way of getting under his skin, touching his heart, and making it race with fear and uncertainty.

It had taken only one glimpse into those killing-curse green eyes for Draco to know that Harry Potter would not hesitate to kill whatever got in his way. He wasn't murderous, or insane, or needlessly violent, but his eyes told of an apathy to the suffering of those around him.

And now, Hermione Granger, who was as close to a friend to Harry Potter as was possible, had been attacked by Slytherin's monster, and Draco just _knew_ heads would roll. Not because Potter cared about her - Draco could tell that no matter how much she deluded herself into imagining that Potter had _feelings_ for her, the Boy-Who-Lived simply looked at her as he looked at a House Elf, or a wand: a tool to be used, nothing more.

And if someone or something had destroyed his wand, Draco would want to hurt them, very, very badly. A wand was useful, it made him powerful, and if someone took that power from him, he would hurt the ones who did so. He could not be weak, not in Slytherin, and Potter knew the ways of the world as well as he did. Potter could not be weak, either, which meant that Potter was going monster hunting.

Draco just knew that the mudblood would get ideas, that Potter was upset by the attack on her person because he _cared_ about her, but he knew the real Potter, and he needed to figure out what to do.

The female Weasley had been acting strangely, walking around with her nose in a book that Draco had seen multiple times in his father's study. Something was _wrong_. He hadn't done anything about it, though, because it was too amusing to watch the stupid mudbloods and blood-traitors running around scared. But if anyone could make the connection between the book and his father - and by association himself - it would be Potter. He needed to find some measure of deniability so that if - _when_, he thought with a shudder - Potter decided to exact revenge, he would not be in harm's way.

Which led to his current predicament. How to help Potter enough to keep the creepy boy with the bright green eyes from killing him outright, while hiding his aid from the rest of the school?

There was a rush of displaced air, a feeling of cold liquid dripping down his back, and Draco nearly gasped with fright when Potter himself spoke from his right.

"You're thinking awfully loudly, Draco," he murmured. "Some people might imagine you were...up to something."

"I'm not doing it!" Draco denied immediately.

"Oh, I know, Draco," said Potter. "As I said, you were thinking rather loudly, and I simply could not help but eavesdrop."

"Look, I'll help, but in return, you can't go after my family for this! I know you don't care about the mudblood, but she's _yours_, and I just don't want us to get hurt."

Draco could imagine Potter's facial expression, lips curling up in dark amusement over shining white teeth...

"Oh, Draco," whispered Potter. "You don't have much to offer me at all, do you? I already know where the basilisk resides."

"It's the Weasley!" exclaimed Draco in a rush. "The female! She's got a book, a diary..."

Floating in midair, a black diary with the name "T. M. Riddle" embossed on the cover appeared. "This one?" asked Potter with dark amusement lacing his words.

"Y-yes!" Draco said quickly. "It-it belonged to the Dark Lord!"

Burning letters appeared in thin air, "TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE" was spelled out. The letters twisted and rearranged themselves and Draco nearly wet himself in fear. "I AM LORD VOLDEMORT" hovered in front of his face, the orange flame reflecting in his eyes. The words drew closer to Draco's face, and he began to feel uncomfortably warm.

"I already know this, Draco," said Potter. "I even know why Ginevra Weasley began writing in this book. I know why the Dark Lord wished so very highly for Lucius Malfoy to keep this diary safe - and I know how very _angry_ he will be when he discovers that his precious diary has been destroyed."

"W-what do you want?" Draco asked, eyes wide. He had nothing to offer this angry god before him, still invisible.

"Loyalty, Draco," said the voice. "You will be mine, and in return, this diary - which the Dark Lord will believe unchanged - will be returned to your family. They will be spared his wrath...temporarily."

"It will fool the Dark Lord?" asked Draco hesitantly.

Potter's laugh echoed around the corridor the pair were in. "Oh yes," he said softly. "It is, after all the same type of object...but no longer his own."

Draco reached for the diary, but it was tugged from his fingers before he could grip it. "Do I have your oath, Draco?" Potter asked. His words coiled around Draco's mind.

Draco swallowed. "You do," he said softly.

"Excellent." The diary dropped to the floor and, with a whisper of air, Potter disappeared.

Draco stood in the corridor for a few seconds, trying to regain his haughty air. He took out his wand, cast a _finite incantatem_ at himself to dispel the disillusionment charm, and took the diary with him into an abandoned classroom.

He took out a quill and ink bottle, and let his hand hover over the page. A drop of ink fell from the nib, onto the page...before it vanished.

Then, words began to form.

"_Hello_."

Draco paused. His father had told him from a young age not to trust magical objects, especially _thinking, sentient_ magical objects, but he felt compelled to respond.

"_Hello. My name is Draco Malfoy._"

"_Hello, Draco. What is on your mind?_"

The Malfoy scion began to write, and as he did so, his deepest, darkest secrets spilling onto the page, something began to intertwine with his soul. After a few hours, there was a _tug_ - and the Malfoy scion simply sat, unmoving, in an empty classroom.

Then, he jerked into motion, glancing down at his hands, body, conjuring a mirror to stare at his own face. "It worked," he breathed, then stared down at the still-blank diary. He removed the hidden compulsion charm before he wrote a single sentence.

"_Goodbye, Draco Malfoy._"

There was something that was almost a scream from inside the diary before the Malfoy scion closed the book and smiled.

A figure wavered into visibility next to the blond-haired boy. "It worked, then?" asked Harry Potter.

"Oh, yes," said the boy. "It's quite odd, in fact, being in this body now."

"And I suppose talking to yourself is less strange?" asked the black-haired boy.

"Oh, yes," said the blonde. "We are, after all, separate entities."

The raven-haired boy smiled. "Of course," he murmured. "I will see you later then, Harry?"

"Of course," said the blonde. "Potter."

The two boys shared a strange, identical smile, before exiting the classroom and walking to their beds.


	4. Sharing

**A/N: I got a review talking about how Harry and Tom are alike - Harry seems to be using his power, instead of simply having it like I said he would. Yes, he's using his powers to gain more - he's manipulating Hermione Granger, he's replaced Draco Malfoy with a copy of himself, and he's generally being amoral. But each of these actions is to gain power - he's not messing with people just to mess with people. He's always got an end goal.**

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><p>Luna Lovegood could See things. She always capitalized the verb, because to her, the action was far too important to remain in lowercase. It was a part of her identity, the fact that she could See what other people thought she shouldn't, and the way she could blurt things out at the moments she was supposed to, according to some of the creatures that spoke to her.<p>

But there was one person that the creatures all stayed away from, and that was the mysterious Harry Potter. He was a Gryffindor, which made conversation difficult, but when there were suddenly two Harry Potters walking around Hogwarts (one of them inside Draco Malfoy's body, she discovered to her confusion), her efforts to speak with him redoubled.

"Harry Potter," she said dreamily - it always threw people off, for some reason - "We need to speak."

He stared at her, and she could almost feel his emerald eyes staring through her soul. She awaited judgment.

"Of course," he spoke softly. He extended an arm chivalrously. "Shall we?"

She hesitantly stepped into the empty bubble around him and gasped. There was a feeling of pressure, of immense knowledge that surrounded him, and she knew exactly why Hermione Granger deluded herself into believing him her friend. The feeling of omniscience was too much for any knowledge-seeking person to resist.

"So much knowledge," she sighed.

Harry Potter smiled at her, gleaming white teeth showing, and led her to a secluded spot by the Lake. "So," he said, as he sat down next to the blond girl, "What would you like to know?" He smiled at her again.

"How?" she asked, staring at him still.

"Magic," Harry Potter shrugged. "It is a very convenient thing."

Luna cocked her head. "A mastery," she spoke hesitantly. "Some people claim that certain areas of magic speak to them - it's probably why Professor Snape is so grumpy when our potions don't turn out quite right. The magic is upset."

Harry nodded. "That sounds reasonable."

"You have a mastery of what, then?" she aksed.

"Everything," Harry replied. "All magic is the same. Charms, transfiguration, potions, herbology; all forms of manipulating energy. I don't speak to one type of magic any more than another, and magic answers whatever questions I have."

"Does it ever suggest anything?" Luna aksed.

"On occasion," Harry said, "but I usually have to prompt it to give me a suggestion."

Luna smiled. "My creatures?" she asked suddenly. "Can you see them?"

Harry's eyes went blank, then he laughed - a real laugh, not the deadened one he used when dealing with normal people. "No, Luna," he replied. "Your creatures are yours alone. They're your own form of magic."

Luna smiled and nodded. "That's nice," she said. "Sharing them would be annoying."

Harry paused. "Yes," he replied. "Sharing can be annoying."

Luna hadn't noticed when he had pulled his wand out, but her eyes widened in surprise when he spoke. "_Obliviate_."

Her eyes went glassy for a second, and then she came to. "Oh, hello Harry Potter," she said. "Did you say something?"

"Yes," Harry said, "But it wasn't very important."

"Oh, alright then," Luna said, getting up and walking away.


	5. Regrets

Albus Dumbledore did not have the best track record with orphans. Tom Riddle had grown up to become one of the worst Dark Lords the country had ever seen. Harry Potter was not looking as though he would turn out any different. Even as he had been sorted into Gryffindor, his face had shown a hint of cold cunning. He had done well masking it, but Albus Dumbledore was also very good at spotting things that were meant to be hidden.

"Back again, Harry?" he asked. The boy turned from the ornate mirror before them, unsurprised to see the Headmaster sitting calmly behind him.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I have."

"I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"Oh yes," said Harry. "It shows me, alone, able to make sure nobody hurts me ever again. It showed Hermione a group of people sitting around her in the Library of Alexandria - knowledge and acceptance. It shows our innermost desires, sir."

Dumbledore felt that he should have suspected that Harry would deduce the function of the mirror rather quickly.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir," Harry continued, looking back at the mirror, "What do you see when you look at it?"

"I?" asked Dumbledore, taken aback for a second. "I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks. One can never have enough socks. People always give me books for Christmas, as if they think I don't have enough, but I never get any socks."

Harry stared at Dumbledore for a second. "You miss her," he stated. "Your sister."

The headmaster felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. "How-?" he began.

"We all do bad things, sir," Harry said with a small smile. "But only the best of us truly regret them." He stood up and put a hand on the aged wizard's shoulder. "You'll see her again," he said softly, and left the room.

Dumbledore stared at the Mirror of Erised, a tear running down his wrinkled cheek.

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><p>Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, head in his hands. Hermione Granger, one of his most promising students in Hogwarts, had been petrified. Her best friend, Harry Potter, was on his way up the staircase. He had failed the black-haired boy once again.<p>

A polite knock sounded, and the Headmaster called for the boy to enter. The door opened, and he simply stared.

Harry Potter stood in the doorway, tugging a decapitated basilisk head after him. Once he had gotten the large body part in the office, he closed the door and turned to the Headmaster. "I took care of your pest problem," he said unnecessarily. "Unfortunately, I do not know who was controlling it; but they shall have to find a new method to carry out their attacks."

Dumbledore jumped to his feet. "Of course," he said. "Of course. May I ask, well, how?"

"The most prominent trait of Salazar Slytherin's bloodline was parseltongue," Harry shrugged. "I found out I was a parselmouth when I was ten. I traced down the site of the first attack and looked for anything with a snake motif - it was inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, by the way. I went into the Chamber of Secrets, called for the basilisk, blinded it, and cut its head off."

"I see," mused the old man. "Very well, thank you Mister Potter. I believe this warrants an award for special services to the school at the least. I shall contact the Minister of Magic and inform him immediately."

Harry gave a nod and left the office, leaving Dumbledore staring at the giant serpent's head facing him from across the desk.

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><p>Albus Dumbledore was in his office when he received notice that Harry Potter was coming to see him. He was tempted to call for a calming draught as a preemptive measure, but decided against it. After all, it wasn't as if the boy could have caught Sirius Black, was it?<p>

The door opened. "Sir!" Harry exclaimed, brandishing a piece of blank parchment. "Sir! I just found out something amazing!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, Harry?"

"Peter Pettigrew is alive!" The boy laid the parchment on the desk before tapping it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he stated, and watched the Marauder's Map unfold. Then, he pointed to the Gryffindor dorm rooms - where a dot labeled Peter Pettigrew was nearly overlapping the one labeled Ronald Weasley.

Before their eyes, a bubble expanded around their forms, the edges comprised of intricate links made up of the word "Snuggling" repeated over and over again.

"But the only thing there is Scabbers, Ron Weasley's pet rat. Then I figured he might be an animagus or something!" Harry said.

"If that is true, then Sirius Black might not be responsible for the deaths of your parents," Dumbledore said softly. If that was true, he would most likely request guardianship of the boy-who-lived. And that meant that he would be taken away from the protection of Number Four, Privet Drive.

It was then that a sentence from two years ago rang in his mind, spoken by an eleven-year-old boy entranced by a magical mirror: "It shows me, alone, able to make sure nobody hurts me ever again." Harry Potter had been harmed, and Albus Dumbledore felt it was time to start making up for some of the things he regretted.

"Very well," he said, getting up. "Let us capture a rat."

An hour later, several Aurors left the Headmaster's office looking like the world had just turned itself sideways and revealed that the sky was, in fact, a rather ugly shade of puce. The unconscious and bound form of Peter Pettigrew was floating behind them. When the entire troupe had gone through the Floo, the white-haired man rubbed his temples. "Is every year going to be like this?" he asked the room at large.

The lack of answer resonated in his head as a definite affirmative.


	6. Amusement

**A/N: This was a long time coming for me. Snape's been one of my favorite characters for a while simply because you can turn him any which way: his actions can be interpreted as kind and loving or horribly perverted and disgusting. I hope this honors the fine balance that is Severus Snape. Oh, and Dobby is distinctly frightening.  
><strong>

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><p>Severus Snape had expectations for the Potter scion. He would look like his father, act like his father, and be spoiled rotten like his father. It would, of course, be Severus Snape's unfortunate duty to deflate the Boy Who Lived's precious ego, thereby demonizing him to the rest of the world - but it would a necessary sacrifice if the rest of the boy's year were to make it out of Hogwarts without idolizing the arrogant prat.<p>

Then the Boy Who Lived had sat down and begun to talk, and all of Severus Snape's expectations had changed.

He didn't hate Slytherins, like Ronald Weasley.

He didn't deify authority, like Hermione Granger.

Harry Potter was far to similar to himself for comfort. Except Harry Potter had gotten into the "right" house.

He could see the emotional gap between the boy and his hangers-on. He could almost see himself at that age, giving a small smirk at the idiots who blathered on in his presence as though he cared for what they said.

He could easily see young Lily Evans replacing the Granger girl, could see a sallow boy with a hook nose and dirty clothes simply using her for his own purpose, until she had left him.

It was when the unforgivable had happened: he had truly begun to care for the redhead. And when she began to date James Potter, she had hurt him.

He had vowed never to let anyone do that again. And now here he was, watching her son behave just as he had years ago. And he smirked. Life would be amusing again.

He'd had no idea the Potter brat would use him to make life amusing.

"Imagine this," he heard the Potter boy saying one afternoon to an enraptured audience. "Imagine that you are a young boy, raised near the Muggle world. You're a pureblood, and have been educated to know that Slytherin is, of course, the best house in the world. That's all you've ever known.

"You meet a muggleborn witch, and have a friendship. You might even wish for more someday. She's pretty, and smart, and kind beyond all belief. You introduce her to the world of magic, and show her all the beauty in it - because who would want to expose a friend to the dark side of their world?

"And then you come to Hogwarts, and you have all these dreams, all these aspirations. And you're sorted into Slytherin, because you know it's the best House and the best is where you want to be.

"Except the girl is in Gryffindor. And she makes friends in her House, and all of them complain about the slimy Snake she's hanging out with. And you make friends in Slytherin, and they all complain about the mudblood you're hanging out with.

"And eventually, a conflict erupts between a Gryffindor who has a romantic interest in the muggleborn witch you've known for years, with whom you've made plans. And your friend laughs at you as you're embarrassed, in public, with the rest of the school joining forces against the slimy Snake. And you let slip a dirty word, one you swore you'd never use - you call your friend a mudblood. And you plead for forgiveness, of course, you grovel, you beg, but you've insulted her, and become the thing you sought to hide from her, and no amount of pleading can change that.

"And so she marries your rival, who smirks at you whenever he sees you, and if she notices she doesn't say anything. She can't hate you, of course, because you were friends for so long, but she can't love you either.

"And you have to live with this for the rest of your life, because of a stupid conflict caused by a stupid rivalry between Houses. That's why I don't like the House system - it engineers these conflicts between students for absolutely no good reason. I know for a fact that Daphne Greengrass is no blood-purist, but she'll be attacked if she speaks up against the arseholes like Nott in their House."

He had no idea how long he stood in the corridor, eyes wide, but when he came back to himself, the Boy Who Lived was nowhere to be seen. So he went to his office, grabbed a bottle of Firewhiskey, and drank himself to sleep.

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><p>When he was attacked by a mad House Elf named Dobby, he knew he should have cursed Harry Potter at the Welcoming Feast when he'd had the chance. The Elf had told him, in its irritatingly high-pitched voice, that the Greatest Wizard Ever, Mister Harry Potter Sir, had told him, Dobby, a lowly House Elf, that he would sacrifice his time at Hogwarts with his friends if The Rather Mediocre Wizard, Mister Greasy Snape Sir did not return to Hogwarts either.<p>

Snape had nearly gone white with fury.

He'd made all sorts of excuses, even told the Elf that it could tell Harry Potter that he had not returned to the Castle, but the fanatic Elf had told The Rather Mediocre Wizard, Mister Greasy Snape Sir that such a Great and Wonderful and Kind Wizard would surely know if such a Rather Mediocre At Best Wizard were lying and had returned to Hogwarts.

Snape was nearly crying when he discovered Anti-Apparition jinxes attached to all of his robes, to enforce the mad House Elf's decision that if a Great and Wonderful and Kind Wizard like Harry Potter Sir would sacrifice going to Hogwarts, a Terribly Mediocre Wizard like Greasy Snape Sir should be honored to do so as well.

Snape had nearly suffered a nervous breakdown at that news. For all that they were looked down upon or ignored, a determined House Elf was a scary House Elf. And Dobby was most definitely determined to prevent Greasy Snape Sir from returning to Hogwarts.

The Floo in his home rejected him.

The barrier to the entrance of Platform 9 and 3/4 had also turned solid.

He ended up being taken to Hogwarts by Albus Dumbledore of all people, along with the Potter brat (who had waited outside the barrier with Snape to make sure the Potions Professor didn't go to Hogwarts without him.

Then he had been attacked by a rogue bludger at a Quidditch game, and had several bones broken. The mad House Elf had entered the Hospital Wing where the Potions Master was convalescing.

"Dobby tried to warn Mediocre Greasy Snape Sir," the creature said, its large ears wobbling dementedly. "But Dobby will have to take more drastic actions now!"

The screams of Severus Snape lasted well into the night.

Thankfully, the House Elf did not cause any more damage before the Potter brat dragged the decapitated head of a Basilisk of all things into the office of Albus Dumbledore.

That summer, he opened the door after hearing a knock.

"Master Harry Potter Sir, the Greatest and Most Wonderful and Kindest Wizard of All Time, told Dobby to help Mister Greasy Snape Sir, One of the Least Remarkable Wizards of All Time, with his household work!" said an excitable House Elf.

Snape screamed and ran away.

* * *

><p>Third year, Snape decided, he would launch a preemptive strike against the Potter brat. Under the guise of "protecting" the boy from Sirius Black, the Boy Who Lived would not be allowed on Hogsmeade visits.<p>

He didn't realize that the brat would spend that time trying his best to annoy him out of his mind.

He had very nearly reached the end of his rope when Potter mentioned that Black had been innocent, and was very keen on reconnecting with his old pal, Severus Snape. That single sentence was enough to drive the Potions Master into a gibbering wreck. He regained his senses to discover that he was lying on the ground, head held by the raven-haired menace.

The boy reached his head down to the man's ear.

"I am not here," he breathed lightly, "for your amusement."

With that, the Potter Scion got to his feet and left. Snape hoped beyond hope that the pair would never again meet outside of classes.

It was, of course, too much to ask.


	7. Family

**A/N: Not my favorite chapter, but I needed to detail Harry's encounter with Sirius Black. This is another case of Harry not asking the right questions - he needs to be confronted with the facts (I have a godfather who escaped from Azkaban prison to supposedly kill me - but only just now, after twelve years) in order to find out the pertinent information.**

* * *

><p>Sirius Black's first year in Azkaban had been the worst. He had been tormented by visions of a one year old boy with messy black hair and bright green eyes staring accusingly at him. "Murderer," the boy accused him, his high baby's voice touched unnaturally by anger, "You're the reason I'm alone!"<p>

He had tried to tell the spectral figure no, tried to explain, but the visions continued, until his nearly-ruined mind had accidentally transformed him into his animagus form - and the boy had vanished.

He had recovered from the months of torment in the form of a black dog, ignored by the Dementors and inmates alike. His godson, Harry Potter, would be safe. Dumbledore was looking after him, after all.

And yet something felt very wrong.

* * *

><p>Years passed. Sure, Wormtail was still out there, but he couldn't show his face - faking your own death put a stopper on things like that. And his godson would be taken care of, taught by Dumbledore, raised by people who would love him like their own son. And while it might hurt that Harry Potter would associate love with a couple other than James and Lily Potter, it was certainly the best he could hope for.<p>

The boy would do better without him in his life. What could a hot-headed, reckless fool of a convict do for his godson, after all?

* * *

><p>He had read something ridiculous about a teacher getting killed at Hogwarts this past year. But that simply couldn't be true, of course; Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster there, and he wouldn't let anything endanger the students, especially when Sirius Black's godson, Harry Potter, was only just starting his education at the school.<p>

* * *

><p>His godson had killed a basilisk this year. Students had been petrified, but Harry Potter had entered the fabled Chamber of Secrets, killed a basilisk, and stopped the attacks.<p>

Gilderoy Lockhart had been caught trying to obliviate a young boy whom he had raped, and was summarily arrested. Soon, the cell next to Sirius Black had a man crying out for his father's forgiveness.

"Didn't mean to break it, Daddy," the author cried out, "I'll be good, I promise!"

When Bellatrix Lestrange had managed to break through her madness long enough to yell at him to shut up, the man's sobs redoubled, but he didn't speak again.

* * *

><p>And then he saw it - a photo including a pet rat on the shoulder of a red-headed boy attending Hogwarts. This would be perfect. He could have his revenge on Wormtail and get to meet his godson. He didn't think the boy would want him to take him away from the kind, loving family that Albus Dumbledore had given him to, but he could always hope to fill the role of the cool uncle.<p>

* * *

><p>He had watched the boy's house for days. Vernon and Petunia Dursley must have changed their tune about Lily for Dumbledore to put his godson with them. But the more he watched, the more concerned he became.<p>

The boy was thin, but tall. This was no surprise, as he and James had been the same way as children.

But what worried Sirius Black the most was the aloofness the boy maintained. Not once had he witnessed an expression cross the boy's features; even when, as Padfoot, he had rolled on his back and whined for a stomach rub. The boy had simply crouched down, brushed a few fingers over his chest, and stood up again. Not once did his face change into anything resembling an emotion.

"You should watch out," he said in a flat tone. "Some of the residents here worry about their female dogs. They might remove something important."

* * *

><p>His godson did not play Quidditch, did not play pranks...did not really play at all, Sirius realized. He read, he practiced magic, and he interacted with his classmates. Even when Remus Lupin had tried to tempt him with tales of his parents, the boy had politely refused. What was going on with the boy?<p>

The story of how he had gotten angry - angry! - at a Dementor was quickly making the rounds at Hogwarts. The students were all surprised to hear of the odd but popular boy actually showing emotion towards something. When asked about it, his godson had apparently replied that the monster had tried to make him feel helpless, and he would not feel helpless again.

The next day, Harry was casting the Patronus charm at the ring of Dementors around Hogwarts, making them swoop around to avoid the silvery creatures.

It was impressive magic; most adult wizards were unable to cast the spell, but here was Harry, at the young age of thirteen, learning a complicated spell in a single day.

But the strangest thing was that when Harry had turned to enter the castle once more, he had nodded at the dog in greeting.

* * *

><p>He was woken by the rude feeling of being forced out of his animagus form.<p>

"Hello, Godfather," said the boy in front of him.

He jerked backward, staring at Harry Potter. His godson was staring at him with his bright green eyes, not with anger - which he'd been expecting - or love - for which he'd been hoping - but a curious lack of expression. "Hello, Harry," he rasped. "Come to kill me?"

Harry let out the first display of emotion Sirius had seen: he tilted his head back and let out a deep laugh. It had a twinge of mania in it, the escapee noted idly.

"No, Sirius," Harry said, "no, I came to inform you that Peter Pettigrew will be captured by midnight tonight."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Then he's going to escape. There's a prophecy about it, actually."

Sirius shook his head. "I didn't kill them," he muttered. "Lily or James or anyone, I didn't. It was Peter."

"I know."

"How?" he asked. "How can you know?"

Harry simply gave him a smile, showing an eerie number of teeth. "I saw Peter on a certain map," he said. "From there, the conclusions were fairly easy to draw."

Sirius shook his head. It seemed so simple; why had nobody else noticed before?

"I know that Dumbledore must have found you some loving guardians to take you in, Harry, but if you ever want me around...I know I'm just the crazy escapee Godfather, but if you want me in your life..."

Harry burst out laughing again. "Oh, if there's anything the Dursleys are not, it's loving. Would you be able or willing to claim guardianship?"

Sirius nodded so fast he thought his head might fall off.

"Good," said Harry, and then there was a sudden auro of cold determination around the thirteen year old. "And Sirius? There are certain plans I have to take care of the Death Eaters still walking around this society. You will not interfere."

Sirius's eyes widened and he nodded again.

Harry suddenly broke into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. None of his facial expressions really did, Sirius noted. "Then we'll get along wonderfully," the boy said in a cheery tone. Sirius could only just hear that hard note layered beneath the veneer of casual conversation.

It was at that moment that Sirius Black swore to himself to never, ever get on Harry Potter's bad side.


	8. Wealth

**A/N: Couple of things I'm trying in this chapter. Dealing with events in characters' lives before Harry is iffy in my opinion - I'm not certain if I quite got away with it, but I really wanted to explore Arthur Weasley without reverting to the "he's just mild-mannered" or "he's really an Unspeakable who's super badass". I hope I managed to add to his character without destroying JK's work. In addition, this is the first time we encounter Ginny; as a general rule I dislike her, which made it a challenge to make her somewhat likable. I hope I succeeded.**

* * *

><p>Arthur Weasley had never had much by way of money. He wasn't exactly in poverty, he did own his own house, after all, but his position in the Ministry of Magic did not exactly pay well. But each day he thanked his lucky stars that he had been blessed with such a family.<p>

As an only child, his existence before Hogwarts had been rather lonely. When he had arrived at the old castle, he and the other first-year students had received a speech from the Transfiguration Professor and Head of Gryffindor House, stating that during their stay at Hogwarts, their House would be like their family. He had taken the statement to heart.

In fact, it was in Hogwarts that his mild manner became well-known. Gryffindors, famous for being ruled by hasty, emotionally-charged decisions, were confused at the calm, caring young man in their midst, but took it in stride. And Arthur Weasley took the sometimes-irascible Gryffindor students in stride as well. He never grew angry or held a grudge when they lashed out at the nearest target. He recognized that their anger was not genuine, and they were family, something he'd never really had.

He'd met Molly Prewett his third year, crushing on the red-haired girl fiercly, until one day he screwed up the courage that had gotten him into Gryffindor and asked her out on a date. To his delight, she had accepted, and he found himself enjoying her company despite her frequently vascillating emotions. His friends had wondered why he had suddenly gained the courage to ask the girl out, and unfortunately for the Prewett girl, the rumor that love potions had been involved never quite died out. He had been terribly embarrassed until Molly had informed him sternly that the gossiper's theories had no bearing on her willingness to date him.

He'd been scared witless when her brothers had cornered him later. Fabian and Gideon Prewett were generally fun-loving pranksters, but Arthur knew that if their sister was threatened, their vengeance would be drawn-out and brutal. Seeing as the younger boy was already sufficiently scared of their wrath, the twins had begun the process of befriending their sister's boyfriend.

That was when the war broke out.

People were dying left and right. It seemed as though every day, a black envelope would soar into the Great Hall of Hogwarts, informing yet another student of the death of a parent or relative. The mood was tense, and it seemed as though Arthur Weasley was in danger of cracking. If anything happened to Molly's family, he didn't know what he would do. It felt as though he had found a resevoir of strength within himself, something that shocked those who thought they knew the mild-mannered teenager.

Molly had loved the show of determination. She spent the next several nights displaying her appreciation quite vocally.

When the pair graduated, the war against Voldemort was growing in magnitude. Purebloods who refused to join Voldemort, even those who offered neutrality, were disappearing daily. Each paper printed had a list of people who had been lost - whether they were dead, or worse, was unknown. Arthur was worried. He would not join Voldemort, he doubted he would even be offered the chance (his love for Muggle technology had begun in his childhood and had continued through Hogwarts despite the teasing of his Gryffindor family). If Voldemort was allowed free reign throughout the wizarding world, he knew it would only be a matter of time until he was taken. Thankfully, he didn't have much money, didn't have much political power - all he had was his Molly, and that was enough for him.

He did the only thing he could with the aura of fearful uncertainty that existed at the time, and asked Molly to marry him. To his delight, she had agreed. Bill was born just nine months after their marriage. Charlie was born a year later. Molly had made known her wish for a daughter, and so they kept trying despite Arthur's tales of the Weasley curse.

Percy, Fred, George, and Ronald were born. It was one year later that the news came. Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort at one years of age, and had survived the Dark Lord's Killing Curse. Arthur was so ecstatic he almost didn't recognize his wife's water breaking. Molly Weasley told anyone who would listen that little Ginevra was the miracle child - the first female Weasley in over a century was born just a day after the Dark Lord was defeated.

* * *

><p>Arthur Weasley received several letters during Ronald's first year at Hogwarts. While his daughter listened once more to Molly tell the story of Harry Potter, he read through his son's oddly thoughtful letter.<p>

Apparently Harry Potter had become an acquaintance with his son - not exactly a friend, Ron pointed out, but not a stranger, either. He had advised his youngest son on the dangers of House bias at Hogwarts, and had begun to attract quite a few followers.

The boy had expanded on that. According to him, Harry didn't need the hangers-on, but he allowed them to spend time with him, discussing anything that came up. The boy only had one friend, apparently, and that was Hermione Granger. While he was displeased by his son's thoughtless comment, he was appeased by the fact that his youngest had apologized to the witch in question. Apparently, ever since Harry Potter had spoken to Ron about making hasty judgments, the eleven-year-old had become just a little more thoughtful and less insensitive. Which was, Arthur considered, a good thing.

* * *

><p>When his daughter returned home from her first year at Hogwarts, she was oddly quiet. He was suspicious of the change from boisterous young daughter to the almost mousy girl that stood before him.<p>

"I...I found a diary last year," she whispered, looking down at her feet. "I was writing in it, and it...it started writing back. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't, and I couldn't even tell you about it!" She was shaking with emotion by this point. "And it was making me do things - I couldn't remember, but I'd wake up with blood on my hands, and not know what was going on - and then I managed to throw the diary away in an old toilet! But I just couldn't tell anyone because I didn't want you to be mad at me!"

He reached out for the girl and drew her into a hug. She tried to press herself into him.

"And then I saw Harry Potter, and he went up to me, and he showed me that he destroyed the diary, and told me not to use things that could think for themselves. And he hugged me and left, and that was it! And he didn't tell anyone or do anything bad, even though I deserved it because I..."

She broke off, sobbing into his shirt. Arthur was in shock. It sounded as though his daughter had been possessed by some sort of magical object, and Harry Potter had simply rescued her, not making a fuss about it or anything. Arthur knew that possessions rarely ended well for the host, and yet the boy treated it as though it were nothing. He definitely had Arthur's gratitude for that.

* * *

><p>Ron was green when he returned the next year. "Scabbers wasn't a rat," was all he managed to tell his father before he ran outside to retch violently into the garden.<p>

The twins also looked fairly disgusted. "He still can't think of it without puking," Fred told his father. "Apparently Peter Pettigrew was a rat animagus, faked his death, framed Sirius Black and has been living with us - in our beds - for the past twelve years."

Arthur wanted desperately to believe this was a prank, but his son's continued retching in the garden told him that it was completely serious.

"Apparently Ronald got woken up in the middle of the night by Professor Dumbledore and Harry Potter," continued George. "Dumbledore took Scabbers, stunned him, and transformed him back into Pettigrew. Ron nearly puked on Dumbledore himself, given where the rat had been sleeping."

Arthur could imagine how the boy had felt. Yet again, Harry Potter was responsible for helping out one of his family members. "Well, then, how about we invite him to see the Quidditch World Cup with us?" he asked.

It took a moment for the words to set in before his sons were jumping around, shrieking like banshees with the force of their joy. He smiled and shook his head. He could never figure out where they got their Quidditch fanaticism, but who was he to deny their pleasure?

* * *

><p>"STOP!" he shouted. "THAT'S MY SON!"<p>

The spellfire ceased. The silvery shield around the trio flickered away, and he stared at Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley. "What is going on here?" he demanded.

"Ronald and Hermione lost track of me in the rush, sir," said the raven-haired boy. "I saw a man shout a spell to cast the Dark Mark, but he left before I could see his face. Then my friends found me, and then you lot decided to hex first and ask questions later."

"You didn't see the man's face?" asked Barty Crouch from next to Arthur. He was looking at the trio piercingly.

"No, sir," said Harry. And though Arthur had a creeping suspicion that the boy was hiding something, he squashed it - what secrets could the Boy-Who-Lived need to keep, after all?


	9. Diligence

**A/N: Harry's response to the Tasks is now available for your reading pleasure! Some of them are silly (I used the same method of Troll-vanquishing on the Dragon, since they're both supposedly magic-resistant) and some are beyond silly (how on Earth to score the second task?), but all of them are, I hope, in character for an efficient, unsympathetic Harry. The next Year Four chapters will cover the more important parts of the year - motives. If some actions seem OOC (second task especially) I hope to explain them in subsequent chapters.  
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**I also have edited Chapter 8, fixing a few mistakes that were pointed out to me by the wonderful Teufel1987. I've realized that I'm making more mistakes as I go on - and would like to take this opportunity to request a beta reader. If you like the story and want to help me make it better, let me know. It'll keep me from being embarrassed by the readers.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Cedric Diggory was a Hufflepuff, and proud of it. The House was dismissed by the others as being for "rejects" - those who were not brave enough for Gryffindor, intelligent enough for Ravenclaw, or cunning enough for Slytherin.<p>

The Sorting Hat didn't help matters, singing some nonsense about Helga Hufflepuff stating "I'll take the rest." What Cedric and the other Hufflepuffs knew was that the House of Badgers was not for rejects (Crabbe and Goyle going to Slytherin easily disproved this theory, after all), but for the loyal and diligent; those who did not believe that success would come to the risk-takers, like the Gryffindors, or the intelligent, as the Ravenclaws proclaimed, or the ambitious and cunning, as the Slytherins believed. The Hufflepuffs knew that success came to those who took a problem and kept at it until it was solved.

They didn't have any House rivalry like the famous one between Gryffindor and Slytherin, simply because nobody else took notice enough to really try to beat them at anything. Sure, the Quidditch games were challenging, especially with Diggory as seeker, but when the important things were considered, the Hufflepuffs were very rarely considered.

But Cedric Diggory was proving the rest of the Hogwarts students and alumni wrong. He was Hufflepuff's sixth year prefect, as well as being Quidditch Captain, which was no mean feat. He was idolized by the younger years, no doubt helped by his rather handsome physique, and was also the son of Amos Diggory, one of the employees of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the Ministry of Magic.

He was rather amiable, approachable by younger Hufflepuffs, and generally a nice person. Which was why, when his name was ejected from the Goblet of Fire during his sixth year at Hogwarts, the response from the previously-ignored House was immense.

He entered the antechamber, following the champions from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, a part-Veela named Fleur Delacour and a seeker named Viktor Krum, respectively. He gave a nod and waited for the officials to enter the room and give them instructions. To his surprise, it was Harry Potter who followed the group into the small room.

"It appears that somebody desires for me to take part in this Tournament," he informed the group. "I am rather displeased by this development."

"But you are just a little boy!" exclaimed the French Champion, shocked out of her accent.

He smiled at her coldly. "I have destroyed Voldemort on no fewer than three separate occasions," he told her. "I have slain a basilisk and repelled over one hundred Dementors with a single Patronus. These are all verifiable claims. Do not insult my abilities again."

The silver-haired beauty harumphed and looked disbelievingly at the fourteen-year-old. "And you expect us to believe you are displeased by your placement in this Tournament?" she asked, ignoring his claims for the moment. "One thousand galleons - eternal glory - surely this is tempting for anyone?"

The raven-haired boy stared at the girl. "My parents left me their fortunes when they were murdered," he said flatly. "It is difficult to visit a magical location without being swarmed by fans and reporters. And you expect me to be tempted by a measly one thousand galleons and a trophy?"

Delacour was saved from responding by the sudden entrance of the adults in charge of the Tournament: Albus Dumbledore, Bartemius Crouch, Ludo Bagman, Alastor Moody, Madame Maxime, and Igor Karkaroff.

"Harry," said Dumbledore sternly, "Did you enter your name into the Goblet of Fire or ask another student to do so for you?"

Harry raised his wand with an air of put-upon aggravation. "I, Harry James Potter, swear upon my magic and my life that neither did I enter my name into the Goblet of Fire, nor did I ask another student to enter my name for me. So I do swear, so mote it be." A flash of light later, and Harry displayed his continued existence by performing a lumos charm.

"Unfortunately, the Goblet of Fire creates a binding magical contract," Dumbledore stated, "so even if he did not enter, young mister Potter still must compete."

Harry stared at the old man for a few seconds. "Of course," he sighed. "Why can't I ever have a normal year?"

* * *

><p>"Since everyone but you knows it, the first task is going to involve Dragons," Harry Potter said to the Hufflepuff. Diggory had told the others in his House about the Boy-Who-Lived's magical oath, which had stopped all but the most hardcore Potter-haters from wearing the ridiculous badges.<p>

"Er, right?" the blond boy replied. "Dragons, you say?"

"Yes," said Harry simply.

"And you're not worried about this?"

Harry simply shrugged. "Dragons are insignificant compared to a basilisk, and I already killed one of those."

Cedric just sighed. He should probably just accept that Harry Potter did not really fear anything, and leave it at that.

* * *

><p>Diggory walked onto the field to the sound of thunderous applause. He stared at the Swedish Short-Snout at the other end of the arena.<p>

It was big.

Really big. Large didn't even cover it. It wouldn't fit in the Hufflepuff common room. It looked to be the size of a small mansion.

Cedric Diggory was officially scared. Somewhere next to that massive, fire-breathing, magic-resistant behemoth was a golden egg that it was his duty to retrieve. He cursed.

He had come up with the plan before he had actually seen just how enormous the dragon was. Unfortunately, he didn't have a back-up, and he needed to get the egg in a rather short period of time.

He transfigured a nearby rock into a Labrador and set it to distracting the massive dragon, and then he ran. He had just grabbed the egg when he discovered that his distraction was over, in a rather messy end. He would never look at a dog the same way again.

He ran some more. A bout of flame rushed past his face, and he could feel the stinging sensation that meant a rather nasty burn. He ignored it as best he could; as long as he could escape the arena before the dragon began another attack, it would be fine.

He managed to escape, but only just.

He allowed the Healer to put some garish orange paste on the side of his face before he watched Harry Potter deal with his dragon - the irascible Hungarian Horntail. He almost felt bad for the teenager, but remembered the perfectly calm look in the boy's eyes and figured he either had a plan or was out of his mind on calming draughts.

When he saw the Boy-Who-Lived in action, he realized just why the boy looked so unconcerned - he really was that good.

The Boy-Who-Lived calmly cast a levitation charm, hovered the boulder above the creature's head, where the dragon stared up at it in confusion, and let it drop - directly between the beast's eyes. The massive dragon's eyes crossed for an amusing second before the entire beast simply flopped onto the ground - away from the nest full of eggs.

The boy walked calmly towards the unconscious beast, grabbed his prize, gave the dragon a respectful nod, and left the arena. The spectators were completely silent. Harry Potter had just defeated a dragon using a single first-year spell.

Harry Potter walked over to the judges. "Can we go a little faster?" he called out. "I want to do at least one challenging thing today."

It was a credit to just how stunned the crowd was that nobody laughed.

* * *

><p>Cedric didn't like being in someone's debt, and was a little miffed when his discovery of the egg's clue - thanks to an odd hint by Alastor Moody - was received with amusement by the raven-haired boy. "I figured it out the first day," said Harry Potter with a note of amusement in his voice. "But congratulations just the same."<p>

He turned and walked away from the Hufflepuff, his amused expression dropping off his face as soon as his back was turned. Keeping up appearances of normalcy was exhausting.

* * *

><p>Cedric Diggory rescued his girlfriend from the Black Lake that winter with minimal fuss and a bubblehead charm. He arrived one minute outside the alloted hour, but still got forty-five points. Harry Potter, of course, had finished with simplistic finesse.<p>

The boy had used a simple cutting curse to fashion a crude boat, Summoned a fishing pole, and used it to reel his hostage to the surface. The fishing wire had been charmed so that it was both unbreakable and would be attracted to Hermione Granger, but nobody else knew that.

A confused Krum, a red-haired boy he had never noticed before in tow, was in third place. When it was apparent that the French part-Veela would be unable to retrieve her sister ("ze Grindylows," she muttered angrily), Harry rolled his eyes and cast the fishing line again, dragging the six-year-old up to the surface.

Again, nobody quite knew how to judge his performance. His original hostage had been retrieved by another competitor. He had retrieved the Bulgarian's hostage in the first thirty minutes, spent forty five minutes catching and releasing fish, and then had rescued the French Champion's hostage.

This Tournament was not working out like it had been expected to.

* * *

><p>Cedric Diggory tied with Harry Potter for the Cup in the Third and final task. The two agreed on a shared win - Harry not caring about the results either way - and touched the Cup at the same time.<p>

The last words he ever heard were spoken in an oddly high-pitched sibilant hiss. "Kill the spare."


	10. Romance

**A/N: I've got the ending planned - a first for one of my fanfics, so hopefully this won't just continue with no end in sight. This is the beginning of the end of Harry's total aloofness. He'll never be free of the Dursley's influence, but he won't be a recluse anymore. Not if Fleur can help it, anyway...**

* * *

><p>Fleur Delacour was not a fairy princess.<p>

She had the long, silver tresses, of course. The alabaster skin, as well. She even had the Allure that was both the blessing and curse of the Veela. But Fleur Delacour would be nobody's damsel in distress.

She had begun attracting the attention of boys at the age of eleven. Her sister Gabrielle was only a year old when Apolline Delacour sat her eldest daughter down and informed her of the facts of life.

She was a part-Veela. This meant that she would attract the attention of males. She might be able to throw fireballs if she was extremely angry, or partially transform into a bird-like state in rare cases, but she would most definitely attract male attention. This was not always a good thing.

The self-defense lessons had started that night, and Fleur was making use of them less than a week later. Complaints were par for the course, and she quickly lost the few friends she had made at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. The boys became little more than drooling husks, and the girls made jealous comments when they thought she could not hear.

She threw herself into her studies, and quickly excelled in her Defense classes. People would underestimate her due to her beauty; she used this to her advantage quite often. The result was that when Beauxbatons arrived at Hogwarts to enter the Triwizard Tournament, she knew that she would be chosen. She had spent the last six years honing her skill; this was her chance to show the magical world that beauty and brains could and did mix in France.

She almost laughed as she heard a red-haired boy mutter to the sandy-haired boy next to him. "I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl! They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!" But she maintained her decorum. It would not do to lose her composure in front of the press and other students, after all.

She sat with the rest of the school at the table with colors similar to their own. Apparently the table was for those who valued intelligence. Fleur was glad that they had chosen this table; the red and gold table seemed rather rowdy, the yellow table was just a little to earnest for her liking, and she didn't like the way the green and silver table was looking at her.

She listened to the Hogwarts Headmaster give a fairly ridiculous speech, accidentally laughing out loud at one point, which drew her some glares from the student population. Apparently this white-bearded lunatic was idolized by the students. He wouldn't have lasted a year at Beauxbatons; parents took the education of their children seriously in France.

When the bouillabaisse at her table was gone, she walked to the rowdy red-and-gold table and asked a calm raven-haired boy if she could have the bouillabaisse. He gave her a single glance and handed her the soup without another word.

There wasn't a single indication he was affected by her Allure.

Obviously the boy was homosexual.

* * *

><p>She watched Harry Potter. Every Champion but the fourteen-year-old was nervous. The raven-haired boy simply sat there, staring at the miniature Hungarian Horntail crawling around on his robes.<p>

"Are you not nervous?" she asked, suddenly breaking the silence.

Harry Potter looked up at her. "Of course not," he told her. "After all, it's only a dragon."

She stared at the young boy. She was three years older than he, and she was scared of facing such a dangerous creature. Either he was insane, or he had an absolutely foolproof plan for defeating the dragon.

Who was she kidding? He was a fourteen-year-old celebrity. He was probably insane.

* * *

><p>"Would you attend the Yule Ball with me?" asked Harry Potter.<p>

Fleur blinked in shock. "Why," she asked slowly, "would I do that?"

"Your Allure doesn't affect me," he shrugged, "and I know Hermione is ecstatic about going with Viktor Krum. I'd rather escort you than try to ignore a fan the whole night, or insult a girl who might actually harbor romantic notions and believe that I reciprocate."

Fleur nodded jerkily. She had been contemplating accepting Roger Davies' request, but a night with someone who didn't turn into a moron around her might be nice.

"Excellent," replied the Boy-Who-Lived. "Shall we convene in the Entrance Hall at...say, seven forty-five?"

"Very well," replied the French girl. Only later did she ask herself what she was thinking, and it was much later that night that she accepted that she had absolutely no clue.

* * *

><p>She stared at the surface of the Black Lake. Somewhere beneath the surface, her little sister Gabrielle was waiting to be rescued. Somewhere in her quest to escape the role of damsel in distress, she became the knight saving the damsels.<p>

She hadn't known being a knight was so stressful. Gabrielle had never been the annoying brat some of the other girls had described their younger sisters as being. The small part-Veela had always stood by Fleur. Their arguments were brief and never anger-filled. The teasing was minimal.

If Gabrielle was harmed...Fleur didn't know what she would do. It was the most frightening possibility she had ever imagined.

When the cannon went off, she performed the Bubblehead Charm and dove into the freezing water.

She was extremely glad nobody could see her under the water. Certain bodily reactions were simply embarrassing, sexual being or no.

She had swum past a large clump of seaweed when she saw the first creature. A Grindylow. Of course.

If there was one creature she did not like, it was the Grindylow. A small, horned water demon, they had long, thin fingers they used for strangling their prey.

The fingers were fragile and easily broken - but it was difficult to grip them underwater. And what was worse, was that where there was one...

Her heart raced. There were many more emerging from the kelp surrounding her. It was an ambush, and she had swam right into it.

She flailed around, breaking as many grips as she could, but the swarming demons surrounded her. As her vision faded to darkness, she could feel little stinging bites, and a single thought went through her head: I'm sorry, Gabrielle.

And then she was blinking her eyes on the shore of the Black Lake, near the stands. "Not to worry," the Hogwarts Headmaster reassured her, "Young miss Delacour will be returned at the conclusion of the Task. No harm will befall her."

Fleur simply nodded. She had failed to rescue her sister. She had fallen prey to simple Grindylows. She was no knight; she was just the damsel who had deluded herself into thinking that she needed no rescuer.

And her delusion could have caused her own sister's death.

When Harry Potter rowed back across the Lake, a she saw not one, but two passengers. One had bushy brown hair, and the other...the other had silvery blond hair, almost exactly the color of Fleur's own.

Her sister had been rescued by none other than Harry Potter - the boy she had almost constantly belittled and underestimated. She might not have been a knight...but she knew who was.

Later, she knew that this was the moment she truly began to fall in love with Harry Potter.

* * *

><p>"Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?"<p>

This was awkward. This shouldn't happen. She was Fleur Delacour. Boys were supposed to fall over themselves to acquire her attention. She should not be requesting the attention of anyone.

But here she was, standing in front of a boy three years younger than herself, actually feeling nervous for some reason.

The emerald eyes stared at her, but she knew he was not assessing her beauty - the glaze signifying lusty appreciation was noticeably absent.

Was he actually gay?

Did she do something wrong? She didn't think she had dressed improperly, and surely she would have heard others comment if she had botched her makeup.

Or did he discount her ability? It was certainly his right, given how she had treated him in the past -

"Yes."

The simple answer startled her out of her thoughts. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"I responded with an affirmative," the strange boy said, a slight smile contorting his mouth. His eyes, however, remained their cold green stare. No hint of amusement reached them. It was as though he knew exactly how to respond to social interaction...but didn't feel any of his actions.

That was acceptable. She was a part-Veela. She was Fleur Delacour, the flower of the heart...and she could teach him how to feel.

And now she had the chance.

* * *

><p>Her boyfriend had returned from the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, dragging the deceased body of his fellow Hogwarts Champion with him. A line of blood trailed down his left arm. His face was completely blank.<p>

She was worried.

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic that the being calling itself Lord Voldemort has regained physical form," the teenager stated calmly in the sudden silence proceeding his arrival. "So do I swear, so mote it be."

There was a flash of light, and he did not fall down dead.

She let out a breath she did not realize she was holding at the same moment that somebody screamed. A slightly pudgy man with a bald spot ran at the body of Cedric Diggory. This was the boy's father, she thought sluggishly. Amos Diggory.

How awful. She couldn't bring herself to care.

Harry stood there silently, his face still blank.

He met her eyes for a long moment before he walked to her. Then he kissed her, hard.

It was the only reaction he had shown to whatever trauma had just befallen him.

"Come on," came a gruff command. Alastor Moody had grabbed her boyfriend's arm and was dragging him back to the castle. "Let's get you looked at, and you can explain what exactly happened."

She stood in silent shock for nearly a minute before her common sense kicked in, and she ran towards the castle.

Her boyfriend was in danger...and she was not a fairy princess.


	11. Broken

**A/N: Holy crap, this chapter was a [insert swear of user-defined severity here] to write. I don't know why. Maybe it's because we know Barty Crouch, Jr: he's neglected, turns to the Dark Side, and voila: you have instant minion. Maybe it was because there wasn't much content from Year Four that I haven't covered yet (and that I wanted to cover). Whatever the reason, Year Four is now complete, and we can move on to the next barrel of monkeys: Year 5.**

**Oh, and in case you've somehow forgotten: I don't own Harry Potter.  
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><p>Barty Crouch, Jr. had been broken long before he met Lord Voldemort.<p>

It had been inevitable, really: with an overbearing mother and an absent father who found the Department of Magical Law Enforcement more important than his own family, psychological damage was to be expected.

He had wanted to make his father proud, at first. A heady ambition, too; one that got him sorted into Slytherin, where his housemates's fathers were being arrested by his own. There had been several unexplained visits to the Hospital Wing that first year.

That summer, the junior Crouch realized that he would never gain his father's approval.

Second year, while there were still visits to the Hospital Wing, he sent some other Slytherins there with him.

Third year, there was nobody left who wanted to fight him.

He became a Death Eater straight out of Hogwarts, and quickly rose up the ranks. Eventually he was assigned to a squad consisting of Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Rodolphus Lestrange. Only the best were put with that trio; anyone weak had their mangled corpse found after a few days.

He'd tried to find his Master after Halloween 1981; he'd even helped torture the Longbottoms into insanity for it, and now his faith was rewarded.

He would infiltrate Hogwarts, and bring his Master back to life.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter was...disturbing. He'd seen cruelty before; he had worn the expression many times himself. He'd witnessed insanity, sadism, the worst kinds of evil, but never before had he seen anyone quite as cold as the Potter boy.<p>

He'd watched the reactions of the students as he'd demonstrated the Unforgivable curses. The Longbottom brat was nearly crying when he'd performed the Cruciatus. The Slytherins looked vaguely interested.

The Gryffindors, for the most part, looked disgusted.

When he'd performed the killing curse (hiding the rush that particular curse caused), he'd tried to spot a reaction in Harry Potter. Yet the boy was emotionless. The curse that had killed the boy's parents (and, he was told, the boy still had nightmares about that night) caused no reaction whatsoever.

When the Potter boy noticed his gaze, his face altered to show a suitable amount of distaste. But Barty Crouch Junior could remember that blank stare, and he shivered in what might once have been fear.

He'd tried putting the young man under the Imperious curse. He was planning to weaken the curse considerably; the boy would think that he was somehow superior to the rest of his classmates, and not practice throwing the Unforgivable off.

He had failed.

He'd tried again, with a stronger curse. It failed again. It was as though the curse simply slid around Harry Potter, without a single effect.

The boy had the temerity to grin at him.

* * *

><p>The first task was fairly easy to clue the Potter boy into. A dropped hint to Hagrid was enough to ensure that he performed adequately. He'd advised the boy to play to his strengths.<p>

He'd expected flight, perhaps, or some clever solution involving magic the boy wasn't supposed to know. He hadn't expected a levitation spell.

Either Potter was so weak that he could only use the levitation spell – which was a fairly remote possibility – or he was the oddest wizard that Barty Crouch, Jr. had ever met.

* * *

><p>The second task, he had been expecting simplicity. The fishing pole still managed to surprise him. Of course, it was rumored that Potter had lived amongst Muggles for the duration of his childhood, so he would probably think like one.<p>

How disturbing. He would have to think like a common beast in order to anticipate Potter.

* * *

><p>He had expected a long wait. Then, perhaps, the boy's body would be found. Eventually.<p>

He didn't expect the Potter boy to actually return, still alive, bloodied but breathing, and dragging the body of the Diggory boy.

He was worried.

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic that the being calling itself Lord Voldemort has regained physical form," the teenager stated calmly in the sudden silence proceeding his arrival. "So do I swear, so mote it be."

Lord Voldemort's return had been meant to remain secret. The plan was falling apart.

A pudgy man ran forward. Amos Diggory. _Good. That should provide distraction._

Potter stood there silently, his face still blank. Then, he walked forward, and kissed the French champion.

He wouldn't get a better chance to finish the brat off.

"Come on," he said, taking hold of the boy's arm and dragging him back to the Hogwarts Castle. "Let's get you looked at, and you can explain what exactly happened."

He barged into his office, ready to attack, but was taken by surprise when his arms and legs froze in place.

"Now, now, Barty," he heard from behind him. The voice was not the one the Potter boy usually used; it was clearer, more precise. "Let's talk about your role in this afternoon's events."

"What was it like?" Crouch asked. "When He returned?"

He felt himself flipped around. "Oh, you don't know?" Potter asked. "How disappointing. Your master screamed like a little girl when I did _this_ -"

The doors opened before Potter's wand could do more than spark, and the face of the boy changed instantly.

"You were responsible?" he asked, voice quavering. "It was _you_? You entered me into the Goblet of Fire? But why?"

The Polyjuice Potion was wearing off, his face was bubbling and distorting in a bizarre collection of transformations, and he couldn't speak, couldn't tell whoever had just entered the office that the boy was not what he seemed, that something was horribly wrong with the entire situation...but he couldn't.

Then he felt the cold, and heard a whisper, so low he could imagine he didn't really hear it at all: "Goodbye, Mr. Crouch."

There was _despair_, and then there was _nothing_.


	12. Beauty

**A/N: Much easier to write this chapter - did it in about two hours, which is about average for the chapters of this story. Much more free reign in creating interesting characters here, which is always nice, and I got to have fun with Harry!Draco. I tried showing the changes in characters that result from Harry's...er...personality, but more subtly than the "if she hadn't encountered _, she thought she would be _" exposition, which would be fairly annoying. Anyway, enough rambling: enjoy!  
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* * *

><p>Daphne Greengrass had been worried when she had gone to Hogwarts. She knew that she was pretty in an arrogantly apathetic way – her beauty was simply the way things were, and there was no use being obsessed by it. Unfortunately for the blonde, she knew that beauty only mattered until you were married, often to the highest bidder. It was looking like that highest bidder would be Draco Malfoy: future Lord Malfoy-Black.<p>

And the blonde ponce was already staring at her. She'd heard stories about what Lucius Malfoy enjoyed with his own wife – would the son take after the father?

Pansy Parkinson, idiotic bitch that she was, had taken to courting the Malfoy scion, which was helpful, as Draco Malfoy had another target for his lusts. But Daphe knew that he would find some way of coercing her into doing _something_ sickening, even if it wasn't becoming the Lady Malfoy-Black.

And then Harry Potter had come along, and frightened the hell out of everyone in Slytherin. A rash, emotionally-charged Gryffindor was something they were prepared to deal with. Potter would likely be turned against Slytherins by the fallacy that because all Dark Lords came from Slytherin, all Slytherins would end up as Dark Lords. Nobody had been prepared for the Boy Hero to spout off that Slytherin House now represented blood purism rather than cunning, as it had once.

Many of the neutral families actually smiled at that pronouncement. Even if Harry Potter had gotten it slightly wrong – it wasn't just blood purists who ended up in Slytherin, after all – he had still neatly redirected an attack from the Serpent House to the blood purists.

She'd worked up the courage to speak with him later that year, to correct his viewpoint. "Not all Slytherins are blood purists," she'd told the boy. "Some of us have other reasons."

He'd looked at her for a second, and then nodded. "Of course. Blaise Zabini was instructed by his mother that he should use the reputation of Slytherin House in order to bolster his standing with the purebloods in positions of power. Tracey Davis chose Slytherin House because she preferred the color scheme, and you chose it because every member of your family has chosen it for over twelve generations."

She stared at Harry Potter. He was either a Seer or had access to the largest and most powerful information network she'd ever heard of.

"I can see that you wonder how I know this? Very simple. Zabini has been courting other purebloods without ever stating a definitive opinion, making it appear as though he agrees with them on matters of blood purity. Tracey Davis uses silver and green as a color scheme on most of her items from home, although the objects in question have little or nothing to do with Slytherin House itself. And your family history is very easy to look up; a safeguard in case blood purists decide to come sniffing around your family tree.

"So if I know all of this, why did I tell Ronald Weasley that Slytherins were blood purists? Again, very simple. Weasley has a very simplistic view of the world. Either you are Good or you are Evil. He has been raised to believe that Slytherins are, by their very nature, Evil. So I redirected that Evil qualifier to blood purists, not cunning people, while maintaining that Slytherins are blood purists, and therefore Evil. So if you went to Ronald Weasley and said 'I am not a blood purist, I actually take vacations in Muggle London,' do you think he would think of you as Evil? Whereas before, you were still cunning, and a Slytherin, so you must be Evil."

It was the most convoluted logic she had ever heard from anybody. "That is...fairly complex," she admitted. "Why not just tell him outright?"

Harry Potter laughed. "Tell Ronald Weasley that his family – who are notoriously anti-Slytherin – is wrong, and he should just change his mind? That would never work."

She had to agree.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Draco," Potter said as he turned to leave. "He'll leave well enough alone."

She stood for several seconds in simple astonishment before going to her next class with one idea lodged firmly in her mind: Harry Potter was not a person she wanted as an enemy.

* * *

><p>Theodore Nott had tried to kiss her in second year. It would have been cute, except for the fact that she had been under a full-body bind cast by the same Theodore Nott.<p>

Draco Malfoy, of all people, had come to her rescue, and cast a fairly low-powered bludgeoning hex at Nott. Even without much power, it still felt like a punch to the gut. Theodore Nott had taught her that after the full-body bind.

The boy had made on odd squeaking sound and looked like he was trying to curl in on himself. Malfoy had stalked up to Nott and nearly hissed his next words: "She. Is. Mine." Pansy Parkinson looked like she wanted to cry. Daphne was still under the body-bind, but she wanted to cry as well. Trading Nott for Malfoy was a risky thing. Either way, she wasn't thrilled with being "owned" by anyone at all.

Malfoy grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the common room and into an abandoned classroom.

_So this is it_, she thought. She wasn't screaming on the inside. She didn't hate the world, or wonder at the injustice of it all. The desire for tears earlier had given way to a terrifyingly calm acceptance.

And then Malfoy removed the bind. "Sorry about that whole possession comment," he said. "It was the only thing I could think of to get him to lay off you." He turned and was halfway out the door before she came to her senses.

"What?"

The boy turned. "What are you questioning?"

"You're not going to...force me?"

Malfoy looked repulsed – it was the expression he made when he heard about Muggles.

"Of course not."

"Oh."

He stood there for a moment, trying to figure out whether or not she would say anything else.

"Malfoy?"

When he looked at her, she bumped their lips together in a crude approximation of a kiss. "Thank you."

Malfoy gave her a smirk, but it wasn't derogatory, or cruel, but much more of a tease. "You're welcome."

When he turned away, the emotion on his face slipped off.

* * *

><p>They were calling her an Ice Queen now. She didn't really mind. Ever since the Theodore Nott incident, she hadn't displayed much interest in friendships with other boys, except for Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, of course.<p>

She interacted with the two for entirely different reasons, of course. Harry Potter scared her, and she definitely wanted to be on his side of any conflicts that might erupt. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was...nice.

He'd asked her to Hogsmeade. She had accepted. They were dating.

She liked it.

Nott had been giving her looks, but Malfoy could make him leave a room with a single glare. She liked the power of that glare, too.

He hadn't really known what to do – they ended up spending a lot of time at the Three Broomsticks trying to have a meaningful conversation – but he had tried, and then apologized for the poor quality of the date. They'd kissed again, but she'd managed to get a few pointers from her mother (who was more than happy to increase the appeal of her daughter to the future Lord Malfoy-Black) and it went a lot better than the previous awkward bumping of lips.

They'd agreed on another date.

She was happy.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter had become a Triwizard Champion. He'd also sworn an magical oath that he hadn't entered the Tournament. This worried her. Somebody was targeting Harry Potter, which meant that bad things were already beginning to occur. She'd need to choose Harry Potter's side, and she needed Draco Malfoy to choose it with her, or they were both going to get killed.<p>

Theodore Nott had passed out buttons reading that Cedric Diggory was the "Real Hogwarts Champion" and that occasionally switched to the rather childish, immature message "Potter Stinks." She was pleased when Draco didn't accept one. Maybe convincing him to side with Harry Potter wouldn't be quite so difficult.

He'd laughed at her when she suggested siding with Harry Potter in the upcoming conflict. It had hurt, until she realized that the laughter wasn't malicious.

"Of course I'll side with Harry bloody Potter," said Draco Malfoy. "I'm not stupid enough to go up against him. Have you _seen_ that glare?"

She'd felt a lot better, although she still berated him for laughing at her.

* * *

><p>Her father had informed her of some disturbing news. The Ministry of Magic was moving against Dumbledore, and by proxy, Harry Potter.<p>

"They're referencing Dumbledore's failure in the last war," Richard Greengrass had told his daughter. "And Potter is seen as Dumbledore's man, so he'll be under attack as well. Be careful."

Sure enough, a High Inquisitor had been appointed to Hogwarts to "ensure a high quality of education during this tumultuous period."

Dolores Umbridge didn't look pleasant in the photo the Daily Prophet printed to announce her appointment. Daphne thought she looked like a toad dressed in pink. But she'd reserve judgment until she met the woman.


	13. Caring

**A/N: Okay, here's Chapter 13. It's been a long time coming, I know. I went back to college after a brief hiatus, and then I got bogged down in a combination of linguistics, abstract algebra, computer organization, and ACTUAL fiction writing. Finals are coming up, which is not the best of news for updates, but summer break after that is going to mean a lot more chapters. Don't worry, I'm not planning on abandoning this fic, especially with the end in sight (well, more in sight than any of the other multi-chapter fics I've started).**

* * *

><p>When Minerva McGonagall first laid eyes on Harry Potter, he was a little over a year old, a small baby wrapped in blankets carried by a half-giant. He had been asleep, but she imagined that, were he awake, his eyes would have been full of life, just like his mother's.<p>

That was not the boy who walked into Hogwarts ten years later. His face was blank, carefully controlled; she recognized the signs of Occlumency at work, which confused her. Even Severus Snape, the best Occlumens that she knew, had had difficulty at a young age. It was perfectly natural: young children ought to be carefree, and hiding one's emotions was not something a normal young child should be able to do.

"Knut for your thoughts, Minerva?" Albus Dumbledore intruded on her thoughts.

"Harry Potter," she said simply, continuing to watch the boy as he interacted with others his age. His charisma was certainly impressive; he deftly maneuvered conversations around him, speaking when necessary, simply listening when not. He never seemed to zone out, to tune out the conversations around him the way the other children would.

"Ah," Dumbledore said simply.

"He seems a little mature for his age," McGonagall continued.

"He does," Dumbledore agreed. "But do recall that there are benign reasons for such behavior. I believe Miss Granger also has this problem, and you visited her family yourself."

"True," McGonagall agreed, "but it still worries me."

"Have a chat with him," Dumbledore suggested.

"I think that would be a good idea," McGonagall said, and watched as Dumbledore went back to mixing ketchup and gravy on top of his roast chicken. The aging wizard added a few peas, sat back to admire his creation, and then added a single peppermint humbug to the top.

Sometimes she worried about the Headmaster.

* * *

><p>"Come in, Mr. Potter," she said, and the door opened, allowing the eleven-year-old to step inside her office.<p>

She offered him a biscuit, which he accepted, and then she sat down.

"Mr. Potter," she began, "as your Head of House, I am responsible for your welfare. And there have been several...I'm worried about your relatives that you stay with. Do they treat you well?"

She looked for any sign of a falsehood – pointless, she knew, because anyone with such an immense skill at Occlumency would be able to hide all such tells – and waited for his response.

"Yes, Professor," the boy said.

"Mr. Potter," she said again, "if not…if there's anything you wish to tell me…my door is always open. I do wish the best for you, and I assure you, if you are being mistreated, I will ensure that your relatives are never given that opportunity again."

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry Potter, "but that will be unnecessary. They treat me well, and I have no complaints."

"Very well," McGonagall said. "You may leave."

As Harry Potter left the room, she could have sworn she heard a strange, dark chuckle, but she couldn't see anyone who would have made the sound.

* * *

><p>She'd been worried when Mrs. Norris had been petrified. The writing on the wall had reminded her of a very similar string of attacks nearly sixty years previously, when she was just a student and Albus Dumbledore a mere Professor of Transfiguration. Tom Riddle had accused Rubeus Hagrid of opening the Chamber of Secrets, Hagrid had been expelled, and the attacks had ceased, but now it appeared that the Chamber of Secrets had been reopened.<p>

And with the clear message written on the wall, she wasn't sure how long it would take before another death occurred.

Each time a petrified student was found – first a Hufflepuff named Justin Finch-Fletchley, then a Gryffindor, Colin Creevey, and finally Hermione Granger, one of her favorite students – she was half-horrified that another attack had taken place, and half-relieved that at least no one had died yet.

Then Harry Potter had discovered the Chamber of Secrets, gone into its depths, and returned, lugging a Basilisk head behind him. She'd given the good news to Lucius Malfoy, who had been remarkably concerned by the welfare of the students, and then sat back to celebrate.

Except they still didn't know who had released the Basilisk on the students (while Hagrid might have thought the giant snake cute and cuddly, she sincerely doubted the half-giant was the Heir of Slytherin). And if they didn't catch the Heir of Slytherin, it would only be a matter of time before he attacked once more.

* * *

><p>"Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you had had…taken <em>issue<em> with a Dementor on the train," McGonagall said abruptly.

The boy sitting across from her shrugged a little. "It was trying to make me feel helpless," he said, as though it explained everything.

McGonagall sighed. "Prefects reported that you were chasing the Dementor down the length of the train," she said. "Why were you doing such a thing?"

The boy shrugged again, but did not speak.

"For future reference, Mister Potter," McGonagall said, "a Dementor cannot be harmed. They suck positive emotions from those around them, and if they can, they will remove your very soul. Do you understand the danger you were in?"

When Harry Potter heard that a Dementor could not be harmed, his face changed subtly, and Minerva McGonagall saw true emotion cross his features for the first time since he had arrived at Hogwarts. It wasn't fear, which she had expected.

Harry Potter looked positively _gleeful_.

* * *

><p>"Mister Potter, a moment," she called out as the Gryffindors filed out of the old classroom. Argus Filch finished packing away the gramophone and scurried from the room, Mrs. Norris at his heels.<p>

She saw the man cast a wary glance at Harry Potter as he left, and was curious for a second before she put it out of her mind and looked at the young man before her.

"Mister Potter," she said. "As a champion in the Triwizard Tournament, you will be required to open the Yule Ball."

"I shall require a partner, then?" he asked. His facial expression twisted in what appeared to be genuine emotion – but McGonagall could see the cracks along it, the blank face that he was struggling to conceal. She didn't say anything about it, however.

"Yes," she replied simply. "And do remember, you will be representing Gryffindor House. Be sure to…_behave_ accordingly."

Harry Potter nodded and left the room.

* * *

><p>When Harry Potter came to her with a handwritten note from Professor Umbridge, the smile on his face was disconcerting.<p>

She read a few lines. "_…highly disrespectful…perpetuating lies…intentionally causing disruption by speaking…of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…_" She glanced up at the grinning boy.

"You know what this says?" she asked.

The boy nodded.

"And what you are doing?"

The boy nodded again.

"I should advise you to keep your head down," she said. "Tell you that you are making waves, the repercussions of which you are unprepared for. But I doubt that you are unprepared for much of what is coming. How long have you known that you will have to face You-Know-Who?"

The boy laughed then, a short moment of mirth that didn't affect his eyes. His eyes, she realized, were cold and hard. "Good day, Professor," he said, and left.

Only when the door closed behind him did she realize that he hadn't answered her question.


	14. Interlude

**A/N: This is an experiment. It's ridiculously short, which is why it's an "interlude" and why the story has been updated so quickly. I read a review that had a statement that intrigued me (that the Dementors were scared of Harry) and all of a sudden I wanted to write the Dementor Horde's perspective. If you don't like it, that's fine. Chapters after this will go back to normal. If you do like it, let me know. Chapters will still go back to normal, but it'll also make me feel happy.**

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><p>They come into the world, and know <em>pain<em>.

They are born in a cage of magic and stone, and They are told that They are bound to the will of their creators.

They see a crack in the cage, and swarm.

Their creators, who call themselves wizards, attempt to harm them. The wizards' spells tear black cloaks, but They are unharmed.

The screams of the wizards echo, and centuries later, visitors can still hear the pain from Their revenge. The visitors call it the _stān hence_, the stone torturer.

* * *

><p>They realize that They are sustained by sorrow. They are glad of this. Nearly everyone is sad, for one reason or another, and They have enough food to last for some time.<p>

They breed.

* * *

><p>They fall in love.<p>

Her name is Audrey, and she is the first witch They meet. She takes Them in when others attempt to curse Them, and when she asks if she can study Them, They consent. They spend long nights with her, answering questions and asking some in return.

They have witnessed human physical gestures that appear to convey affection, and one night They kiss Audrey. When They pull away, she is a soulless shell of a woman.

They know sorrow, for the first time, and They hardly realize that those humans around them are affected by Their sadness. They cannot find it in Themselves to care.

* * *

><p>The Wizarding World flourishes around Them. Eventually a wizard comes to Them and tells Them that the wizards are creating a prison. He offers an ultimatum: either guard the prison or face destruction.<p>

They know that They cannot be destroyed. There have been many attempts over the many years of Their existence. But They are unwilling to pass up a food source, and They become the guards of Azkaban prison.

The prisoners go mad within days. It takes months for the bodies to waste away completely. They do not care. They have not felt anything but sorrow for many years.

* * *

><p>When Sirius Black arrives at Azkaban prison, They cannot feed from him. He has constructed a shield of thought, neither happy nor sad, and They find Themselves powerless.<p>

They are intrigued. They watch as his mind eventually reaches an unsavory conclusion, but before They can feed from his worry, he turns his sorrow into determination.

A week later, he escapes.

They are told that They are to go to a school and search for Sirius Black. They have not left Azkaban prison in some time, and They wonder what the world is like now.

Four of Them are told to search a train. They enter compartment after compartment, searching for the man who shields his mind with the knowledge of his innocence.

They find a boy whose mind is curiously blank. They can detect no shield, so They attempt to draw sorrow to the surface in order to feed. It is Their natural reaction.

The boy's mind does not give them sorrow. The boy's mind gives them a burning anger, more painful than anything They have felt before.

When the boy chases them down the train, They flee.

* * *

><p>They are told by a short, squat woman that They are to find and attack Harry James Potter, of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. They remember the name.<p>

He is the one who caused them pain.

They accept the orders readily. They are told to send two of Their number.

They send half of Their horde, a flock of despair made tangible. They glide above the cities, searching.

They find the boy, walking with a fatter boy whose sorrow is delicious. A few of Them begin to feed.

Harry James Potter, who cannot do magic over the summer, grins at them, and They almost feel afraid. But Their hatred grows beyond Their fear and They attack, trying to overwhelm him.

When Harry James Potter is finished, empty black cloaks (tattered, worn, and inexplicably _cold_) dot the street. His cousin, Dudley Dursley, lies on the ground behind him, empty eyes staring straight ahead, face curiously blank.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: I feel mildly evil for doing this to Dudley. But Vernon's chapter is going to be so much more awesome because of it.**


	15. Shadows

**A/N: New chapter released. Apologies for the wait, but fanfiction _is_ just a hobby, so I feel no remorse. More talk in the second AN.  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd likely return Ron Weasley as a damaged product.  
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* * *

><p>Ronald Weasley wished he was more like his brothers. Bill, the eldest, was a curse-breaker for Gringott's Wizarding Bank, a dangerous job that – according to Bill – involved loads of adventures and old tombs. Charlie worked as a dragon tamer, another extremely exciting occupation. Percy was a Prefect, and was lining up connections to begin work in the Ministry of Magic straight out of Hogwarts. Fred and George, the twins, were both geniuses in their own rights, whose skill with Potions was matched only by their love of pranks.<p>

And then there was him. Ron Weasley. Bill had been a Head Boy, Charlie the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. What was he supposed to do to escape from their shadows? His best skill was his chess playing.

He had been resigned to a life of being overshadowed by his brothers' achievements when he learned that Harry Potter would be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry alongside him. His mind latched on to that fact. Harry Potter had had several adventures even before Hogwarts, slaying dragons, rescuing girls, and doing other things Ron knew were "cool." Maybe – if he played his cards right – he would be Harry Potter's sidekick. After all, in the majority of the stories he'd read, the sidekick was the one who stood by and looked impressed while the hero did heroic things.

* * *

><p>He knew from the books he had read that Harry Potter was going to be a Gryffindor. He also knew that Harry had experienced the evils of Slytherins. He decided on a statement to let Harry know that he was on his side, that he too was against the slimy snakes.<p>

"Ravenclaws are okay, I guess," he said. "Hufflepuff, too. But Slytherins are terrible. Can't trust any of them, see. Slippery like snakes, and cunning, too."

Harry spoke up, and it took a moment for him to realize that the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't agreeing with him, but instead asking a seemingly random question.

"Ron, you play chess, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course," Ron responded proudly. He briefly wondered how Harry had known before he chalked it off to the mysterious nature of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Do you always use a head-on attack? How do you achieve checkmate?"

"By forcing them into a corner, accounting for all possibilities," Ron said. He wondered where this was going.

"But people don't want to be forced into corners," Harry continued. "So you have to outsmart them."

"Right," Ron said.

Harry smirked. "You have to trick them into the corner, the trap you've set. Be more cunning than they are."

Ron choked at that, and Harry simply shook his head. "Cunning is a virtue, as are intelligence, bravery, and loyalty. But here's my problem with Slytherin house. What's the one thing that you think of when I say 'Slytherin?'"

"Blood purity," a random student down the table answered. Ron was embarrassed to note that the majority of the Great Hall was silent.

Harry pointed a biscuit at the older boy. "Right." He turned back to Ron. "Now, if your goal is to win at chess – not to be good, but to win – would you rather your opponent think you were really good, or just a beginner?"

"A beginner," Ronald had responded. "You want your opponent to underestimate you."

Harry had nodded. "Precisely. Now, what do people expect from a Slytherin? Cunning. Like an experienced chess player, they're immediately on their guard. So really cunning people don't go to Slytherin because it would be counterproductive. So why would someone want to be in Slytherin?"

There was silence, and he sighed. "The reputation, the prestige. It's saying 'Of course I'm a pureblood, I was a Slytherin.' So while Slytherin may suck, cunning is something to be admired in others."

Later that night, while the rest of his yearmates slept, Ron stayed wide awake, thinking about values, and Slytherins, but mostly about Harry Potter.

* * *

><p>In Charms class, Ron – along with most of the other students – struggled with the Levitation charm. It was one of the first times he was actually <em>trying<em> to do magic, rather than simply having it happen around him, and it was not going well.

Hermione Granger, the smartest girl in Gryffindor, had been trying to coach him through it, with little success. Every subsequent failure made him that much angrier at the feather that, no matter how many times he swished-and-flicked, would not move.

He wondered if perhaps a mistake had been made, and he was actually a Squib, and his family would simply not talk to him ever again like they did their accountant cousin.

"It's levi_o_sa, not levio_sa_," Hermione corrected.

He could just see her later, laughing at him because he couldn't do a simple levitation charm. She'd probably laughed herself silly already, he thought, after watching his first attempt at magic on the train. He'd been flush with excitement – he knew he'd be going to Hogwarts since he got the letter, of course, but he was actually _going!_ – and had tried a spell Fred and George had taught him.

Butter mellow, indeed.

When it sunk in that not only had he botched this first attempt in front of a random girl, but he'd embarrassed himself in front of _Harry Potter_, he wasn't sure how he hadn't died from sheer mortification.

"Well, why don't you do it then, if you're so clever?" he demanded angrily.

"Fine," Granger had said, and she swished, she flicked, and incanted carefully, "Wingardium leviosa!"

The feather flicked upwards, wafting from side to side in mid-air.

Of course she had gotten it on her first try.

Later, when class was over, he was still seething when he caught up to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, two of his year-mates in Gryffindor. He knew they had seen him get humiliated – and Seamus had set his feather on _fire_, anyway, so he knew what it was like – and let out some of his embarrassment through anger. "Did you hear her? 'It's levio_sa_…' She's a nightmare, honestly, it's no wonder she hasn't got any friends…"

When Granger brushed past them moments later, Ron had a sinking sensation in his stomach that told him that she had probably heard what he'd said. And though he regretted taking his embarrassment out on her, he had no opportunity to apologize.

* * *

><p>He didn't work up the courage to approach Hermione Granger until second year. When he'd heard about the Troll – that she'd nearly died, and that it had taken Harry Potter himself to save her – he'd had difficulty being in her general vicinity, let alone actually talking to her.<p>

He knew it was his fault, even if entirely unintentional, and he honestly wouldn't have blamed her if she'd attacked him, shouted, done _anything_ – but she'd stayed away from him.

But he needed to apologize.

He did not anticipate Looney Lovegood, the local crazy girl, sitting next to Harry Potter and Hermione Granger by the Lake.

"Hello, Ronald Weasley," she said as he approached. "How are you doing?"

"Erm," he said, unprepared for a conversation with the insane girl, "I'm doing alright, I guess. How about you?"

"I seem to have found myself with a tattoo," she said dreamily. "And then I wouldn't tell myself how I got it."

Ron made a strange noise that was halfway between a cough and a hiccup. "Right," he said, "that's nice." He looked over her shoulder. "Uh…Hermione? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

When the girl who used to be a know-it-all bookworm looked into his eyes, Ronald Weasley felt genuine fear. Because mixed in with the devotion – and he thought he knew who it was for, because his sister had that same look from time to time – was a sense of horrific loathing that made him thank whatever deities there were that looks could not kill.

Ron knew he needed to apologize. He knew he needed to overcome his own self-doubt and pity, be the wizard he wanted to be – the wizard he could be proud of being.

But Ron Weasley was only twelve years old, and in the face of such a glare, he did the only thing he could do: whimpered an apology and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.

He decided that staying away from Hermione Granger was something he was going to continue doing for a very long time.

* * *

><p>He was told that his pet rat was a human male at the end of his third year. When the implications had sunk in – and he had been informed that at no point had Scabbers been a real rat – he had vomited. It was one of the most disgusting things he had ever thought of – that the rat that had <em>slept in his room<em> had, in reality, been a balding little man with watery eyes and a disturbing tendency to grovel before whatever feet were before him.

He'd been a witness in the trial, and while Peter Pettigrew had pleaded at him ("I was a _good rat_ for you, wasn't I?") and Lucius Malfoy had tried to implicate that the entire Weasley family was part of a vast conspiracy to betray the Potters ("And you never once suspected that this…rat might not have been what he appeared? I find that difficult to believe…and given his testimony about being in the service of the Dark Lord…") he had tried his best not to think about the things Peter Pettigrew had seen him doing while he thought he was in the safety of his bedroom.

The strangest part was that while Draco Malfoy spewed his usual mixture of snobbery and taunting, the blond-haired boy had discreetly given him a scrap of parchment informing him that the youngest Malfoy was most certainly _not_ of the same mindset as his father, and that the previous years had been unfortunately necessary acting on his part.

Ron certainly didn't trust the Malfoy scion, but he figured he could figure out what was going on next year, when they were both at Hogwarts together, and put the whole thing out of his mind.

* * *

><p>The Triwizard Tournament was announced in his fourth year, and he was momentarily excited. <em>This<em> was the chance he'd been waiting for, the opportunity to show the world that Ronald Weasley would not stand in anyone's shadow.

Then it had been announced that only those over seventeen would be allowed to participate, and the excitement dwindled. Certainly there would be attempts to circumvent the rule – Fred and George were already planning, he was sure – but he had no idea how to fool anything Headmaster Dumbledore would set up.

At least he got to see Krum.

* * *

><p>When Harry Potter's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, jealousy reared its head inside him yet again. The celebrity could get away with anything. He would forever outshine Ron Weasley, forever cast a shadow large enough that the red-haired boy would simply disappear into the background, no matter what he did.<p>

But in a moment of startling maturity, he remembered what Hermione Granger's gaze had looked like. He remembered the utter devotion on her face, and the fear he felt at the loathing she felt towards him. If Harry Potter could inspire such devotion, and Hermione Granger could inspire such fear…then Ron Weasley could, under no circumstances, allow himself to make an enemy of Harry Potter.

He pushed the jealousy down, and prepared to congratulate the fourteen-year-old like the rest of his housemates were going to do.

* * *

><p>Dolores Umbridge appeared a singularly unpleasant woman, and confirmed that her personality matched her appearance scant seconds after Dumbledore had introduced her.<p>

Not only did she interrupt his announcement about Quidditch tryouts – something Ron had been seriously considering since he'd gotten a new broom for his new Prefect status – but she did so in such a high-pitched tone that Ron half wanted to stuff his fingers in his ears.

"Thank you, Headmaster," she simpered, "for those kind words of welcome."

Ron got the impression that she was trying very much not to wrinkle her nose when she addressed the Headmaster, as though she smelled something unpleasant but could not risk offending its source.

"Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

"I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan," Parvati Patil whispered to Lavender Brown, and the two of them collapsed into silent giggles.

Umbridge cleared her throat again, with a now-familiar "_hem, hem_," and when she continued, she sounded less condescending and more businesslike.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

She paused to give a small bow to the teachers – Ron's eyes, which had been drifting shut, snapped back open enough for him to notice that none of them returned the gesture. Then she started speaking again, her voice droning on and on, seemingly not noticing the students who had long since ceased paying the slightest bit of attention.

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be…prohibited."

Finally the speech was over. He was taken by surprise – he'd heard some horrifically boring things from Percy before, but this was a whole new level of tedium – and he only got a few polite claps in before Dumbledore rose and continued on with his announcements, remarking only that the speech had been "illuminating."

Having grown up with Percy, he could recognize the important bits of officiousness, and the fact that Umbridge had essentially announced the start of Ministry interference at Hogwarts. And with Harry Potter directly opposing their response to You-Know-Who's return, the boy-who-lived was likely to be a prime target.

If it weren't for the mind-numbing speech and disturbing fashion sense, Ron might have felt sorry for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: As you might have guessed from the disclaimer, I dislike Ron Weasley as a character. As a person, I'm fairly neutral - this is probably the reason why I dislike him so strongly as a character. I find it difficult to care overly much about a slacker whose only uses are as a foil for Hermione's intelligence and studiousness, and a source of Wizarding culture. I don't subscribe to the "Ron the Death Eater" mentality (unless canon is changed, in which case Ron can be whatever you like) but in canon he's just a lame guy I don't have much interest in. So...this chapter was difficult (I seem to be using that excuse a lot...)  
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**You might notice a few gaps in the plot being slowly filled in. This is intentional. Feel free to remind me if you notice a discrepancy in the plot so that I remember to explain/change things.  
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**Next chapter: shit goes down with Umbridge.  
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	16. Toad

**A/N: And now, the chapter you've all been waiting for. Seriously, almost all of the speculation was about what Harry would do to Umbridge. Hope it doesn't disappoint.**

* * *

><p>Dolores Umbridge did not make friends easily. This was not because of her personality – she was extraordinarily polite, and almost never got into any trouble. The problem was her body type. She had never lost her baby fat, and was not growing tall enough to counteract her increased girth.<p>

Her parents did their best to be there for her, but a lack of social interaction with children her own age had done more damage than they could undo, and instead of a well-balanced young lady, Dolores Umbridge developed a hatred for children and an adoration of her parents – and their employer, the Ministry of Magic.

Mr. Umbridge worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Along with almost thirty coworkers, he was a part of the Werewolf Registry Division, in charge of keeping track of werewolves across Britain.

* * *

><p>Dolores lived a comfortable life – her parents and teachers ignored her precociousness in the hopes that she would one day discover the joys of friendship with her fellow children – until one day, when her father came home pale and shaking.<p>

"John's son has been attacked," he informed his wife.

"John? John _Lupin_'s son was attacked?" she asked.

"It was Greyback," he confirmed.

His wife paled. "You think he might come after Dolores?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe he's focused on the Lupins alone…"

"Do you really believe that?" asked his wife.

He remained silent.

Two days later, the Daily Prophet reported the killing of a two prominent employees of the Ministry of Magic. Mr. and Mrs. Umbridge had been at home, preparing for a vacation while their daughter was at Hogwarts, when they were attacked by an unknown assailant, although it was speculated that the attacker was a lycanthrope, judging by the lacerations on their bodies.

* * *

><p>"Did you hear?" asked Melanie Diritas. She was a blonde girl who seemed to command the majority of Dolores Umbridge's fellow students. "The toad's an orphan now."<p>

The girls surrounding Melanie giggled.

"Attacked by a werewolf," the girl continued. "Shame she wasn't home at the time. Then again, even werewolves have standards, I suppose."

"It probably knew better," a girl said loudly. "After all, werewolves don't eat toads."

From that day on, when Dolores Umbridge's fellow students referred to her, it was always as _The Toad_.

* * *

><p>"Can I sit here?" asked a pudgy, brown-haired boy.<p>

Umbridge looked at him suspiciously. She hadn't seen him before, but that didn't mean that he wasn't going to insult her. It was, apparently, a pastime for the popular students.

Finally, she nodded, and went back to her reading: a particularly thick volume on Wizengamot rulings in the thirteenth century.

"I…I've heard what the others call you," the boy announced suddenly. "I want to let you know that you're not alone."

She glanced up at him again, irritated, marking her place. "What?"

He seemed to gain a little confidence. "They call me Fudgey," he offered.

"And what is your name?"

"Cornelius Fudge," he replied. "I'm a fifth-year."

"And why are you talking to me?"

"You're smart." He gestured to the book she still had in her hands. "Really smart. But you don't have the political connections to get into the Ministry; your father worked for the Werewolf Registry, right? I'm higher up. You help me rise up through the Ministry, and I'll see to it that you rise up along with me."

It was true; the Fudge family, though not as connected as they once had been, still held on to a few politically powerful alliances with older, Pureblood families. With her reputation, it would probably be as good an opportunity as she could get.

* * *

><p>Lucius Malfoy approached her in her sixth year.<p>

"Hello, Dolores, right?"

She nodded.

"My name is Lucius Malfoy. I've recently had an enlightening conversation with Cornelius Fudge."

But before she could say anything, Lucius Malfoy transformed into a small green garden snake.

"Got him!" a triumphant voice shouted. James Potter pumped a fist into the air.

"Was he bothering you?" asked a sandy-haired boy beside him.

The words "werewolf" echoed inside her head. Her mind was filled with the images of her parents – mangled, torn to shreds, ripped apart – a monstrous, hairy beast with dripping fangs and crazed bloodlust in its eyes – and she turned away.

"Halfbreed," she muttered, pretending that rather than the terrifying monster, it was some inferior creature. "Nothing but a filthy halfbreed."

* * *

><p>Cornelius Fudge succeeded Minister Bagnold in 1990.<p>

As promised, Dolores Umbridge was appointed Senior Undersecretary to the Minister within days of his appointment.

* * *

><p>Minister Fudge entered her office.<p>

"What can I do for you, Cornelius?" she asked.

He flopped down on one of her chairs. In her office, it was always Cornelius and Dolores. They had been together for far too much to let their political positions get in the way of their friendship. They both knew, if not for the other, they would definitely not be holding their current offices.

"Albus Dumbledore," Fudge sighed.

Dolores Umbridge held a special loathing for Albus Dumbledore. He had done nothing to stop the bullying in her Hogwarts years, and yet tried to act the benevolent grandfather. He had done her no favors, yet seemed to expect her to look up at him as some kind of paragon of virtue.

She would have advised taking him apart politically years before, had it not been for one boy. The names Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore had been inseparable for years, and Harry Potter was almost universally idolized within Britain's borders.

"What is the issue now?" she asked.

"This whole He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named business," Fudge expanded. "He's trying to incite a panic, I swear. It's taking all of my effort just to keep the people from rioting, and he wants to prepare them for war or some such nonsense."

"Maybe that's what he's going for," Umbridge hypothesized. "He was offered the job of Minister years ago…you only got it because he refused the appointment."

Fudge flushed a little, but he continued with her train of thought. "And now that You-Know-Who's back, he wants the job?"

"He might feel he's the only one with the ability to fight the Dark Lord," Umbridge said thoughtfully.

"Then we'll need to neutralize him," Fudge said. "My only worry is about Harry Potter. He's linked so closely with Dumbledore…"

"Never mind him, Cornelius," Umbridge said sweetly. "I've got a plan to deal with that problem."

* * *

><p>Later, when she received neither a notice that Harry Potter had performed underage magic, nor a report that Harry Potter was a soulless husk, she wondered whether or not she had made a mistake.<p>

But Harry Potter was prime propaganda material for Albus Dumbledore, and had to be taken out. One plan hadn't worked, and she would just have to try another.

* * *

><p>Her first class as Professor Dolores Umbridge went entirely as planned. She got Potter angry by calling him a liar, insulting anyone she thought he might care about, and finally labeling him as a delusional revolutionary who wanted to overthrow the Minister of Magic.<p>

When she assigned him a month's detention, she was wondering what she'd do to extend that time.

After the first detention, she wondered how she could save face while staying very, very far away from Harry Potter.

* * *

><p>"You won't need ink," she said, grinning widely. The blood quill was so old and rare that it had not been mentioned in any bans on dark magic artifacts. It was an effective loophole that let her use whatever means necessary to squash this growing uprising against the Ministry, without having to worry about legality later.<p>

Harry smiled back at her, and then scratched words on the page.

"I must not tell lies," he wrote, and then examined his hand. The words appeared, carved, on the back of his left hand, and Dolores Umbridge waited for the exclamation of pain.

None came. At least, none came from him.

Dolores Umbridge, on the other hand, hissed in shock as a burning sensation scrawled across her forearm.

She glanced down, almost against her will.

"TOAD," was spelled out, carved into her own arm.

Harry Potter wrote a second line.

"FREAK," was slowly carved on her other arm.

A third line was written. Harry Potter now had the horrifying smile, and Dolores Umbridge's face was contorted in pain and horror.

"BITCH," was now carved on her forehead, and she gritted her teeth, refusing to give the boy any response.

The fourth line was written.

Dolores Umbridge felt the burning sensation scrawl across her chest, and she screamed.

* * *

><p>When he left her office, she didn't notice that the message written on his own hand didn't bleed.<p>

* * *

><p>She had him disarmed in her office.<p>

_Disarmed!_ she cheered in her head. _Defenseless!_

"I don't know what you did to my quill," she hissed at him, ignoring his conspirators. A twinge on a word carved into her stomach made her angrier. "But I do know something you _won't_ be able to avoid."

She placed the portrait of Cornelius on the desk, face down.

There was a reason he was Minister, and she was Senior Undersecretary, after all. She could do whatever it took. He was always a little squeamish about the harsher tactics needed in the Wizarding World's political arena.

The Mudblood Granger seemed to understand first.

"No!" she screeched. "You can't! It's against the law!"

"To defend law against lawlessness, it is sometimes necessary to bend the rules," she said. "Often it takes such extreme measures to remind the people that _the government has power_."

She raised her wand. "And, after all, Cornelius runs the Ministry. Do you honestly think he'd prosecute me?"

She snapped it down to point at Harry Potter.

"_Crucio_!"

The spell hit home, and she waited for the screaming to begin.

The Potter boy screamed, but it was mocking, not pained. "_Oh, Professor, it hurts!_" he exclaimed. Then he stopped, and simply stood there for a second.

"Oh, wait," he said flatly. "It doesn't. Never mind."

She was speechless. She knew she had no issues with the curse, having practiced on animals before. Was the Potter boy resistant to all three Unforgiveables?

His wand came flying through the air - _wandless magic_, she noted in the back of her mind - and rocketed into his hand.

"Let me show you how it's _really_ done," he said. His grin stretched across his face, showing hints gleaming white teeth. His face was shadowed, but his eyes and mouth seemed to glow ominously in the darkness.

He raised his wand, as though conducting an orchestra, and then snapped his arms down.

"_Crucio_," he said in a whisper.

The screams began.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This post goes up almost one year since I posted the first chapter. A lot has happened in that year - my best friend died, my cousin joined me in college, and I've grown my hair out to the middle of my back. But this fic has been a constant in that year, and I'm super grateful to all the reviews - encouraging and nitpicky alike - that have kept me writing. Thank you, to all of you.**


	17. Transformation

**A/N: The first of several bits of _Connections_ that deviate from my planned outline (when I realized that a few POVs would be really interesting at later points in the story). This time: Hermione's path from teacher's pet to...well, Harry's pet. Also a stronger clue as to what happened after Luna's obliviation and before she regained consciousness.  
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* * *

><p>Hermione <em>belonged<em> now, and it was all thanks to Harry Potter.

When she first became friends with Harry Potter after the Troll, she replaced the teachers with Harry. The true authority was not the Headmaster; if she had relied on him to stay safe, she would be dead. The one she could trust was Harry.

He added members to his group as time passed. He added Luna Lovegood first. He spent some time with her out by the Lake before he came back, the glassy-eyed girl rubbing her forearm unconsciously as she walked to the Ravenclaw table.

"What was that?" asked Hermione. She wasn't jealous; that would imply that she didn't trust Harry. And she had to trust Harry.

"Her name is Luna Lovegood," Harry explained. "Her father runs a tabloid, and while she's a bit spacey, she's..." He trailed off, before continuing: "...interesting."

Hermione didn't understand, but she didn't need to. After all, it was Harry.

* * *

><p>She needed to discover what was petrifying the students. Harry would want to know, she was sure, and she wouldn't let him down.<p>

She flipped the book to the next page, searching for something, anything...

"_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._"

She paused. Nobody had been killed yet...her mind raced, connections forming at high speed. Mrs. Norris, attacked near water...Colin Creevey, through a camera...Justin Finch-Fletchley, through Nearly-Headless Nick...

Indirect sight.

How was it moving, though? Certainly a gigantic snake would attract attention...

Harry had heard a voice through the walls just before they discovered Mrs. Norris. He was a parselmouth...and he described the voice as hissing.

Through walls...could the snake have been moving through walls? How? What ran through the walls, and was large enough to allow passage of a basilisk?

Ventilation. No, wizards didn't need air conditioning. Water? How did taps work in the wizarding world? Or waste? Did they have a septic system, or did they vanish the contents of toilets when flushed?

Moaning Myrtle hid in U-bends, so there had to be some sort of pipe system. And Hogwarts had a lot of toilets, so the pipes would have to be large...

She knew enough. Everything fit. She winced at what she was about to do...but it was for Harry.

She waited until Madame Pince looked away before tearing the page from the book and scribbling a note on it.

"_Pipes._"

She ran from the library, barreling through corridors at speeds she would attain only for one person.

She heard the hissing just in time.

Closing her eyes would do nothing. The Basilisk's venom was extremely powerful, and if it didn't attack her with its gaze, it would likely try using venom. She had to escape. It was large enough that running wouldn't help her; it would overtake her easily.

She couldn't fight it, as she had no roosters nearby. That only left one option that wouldn't kill her.

_I'm sorry, Harry_, she thought as she felt around in her bag, finally taking out a small compact. She clenched one fist around the paper, and opened the mirror. The hissing grew louder. _I failed you_.

She took a deep breath.

_Please forgive me._ She opened the mirror, and saw a pair of yellow eyes before everything went black.

* * *

><p>When she opened her eyes, she was in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey nodded, checked her reaction times, and made a few notes.<p>

"You'll be happy to know that shortly after your...incapacitation, Mr. Potter found and killed the monster," the Healer said.

Hermione beamed. She hadn't failed, after all.

She didn't notice the note that dropped from her tightly clenched fist.

* * *

><p>When Harry added Neville Longbottom to his group of friends, she didn't ask why. It was no surprise when the formerly shy boy began to blossom under Harry's leadership. His magic grew stronger, and his formerly round build turned into lean muscle.<p>

Harry knew who would be a good friend.

* * *

><p>Gilderoy Lockheart was discovered preparing to obliviate a Hufflepuff, Zacharias Smith. The Defense instructor's pants were down, and evidence of blood showed that the student had been raped.<p>

Hermione was grateful that Harry had kept her from idolizing teachers. If she had worshiped Lockheart and the instructor hadn't targeted boys...she shuddered to think about what might have happened.

It was yet another thing she owed Harry.

* * *

><p>When she found out that Harry was dating the Delacour girl, she had to fight down the jealousy that erupted in her chest.<p>

"It's understandable," said Neville. "I mean, we all want Harry to like us best. This group...it's not a regular group, you know? There's a hierarchy, and Harry's at the top."

"He takes care of us," she defended, and Neville raised his hands defensively.

"I never said it was a bad thing," he said. "But when it comes down to it, we will follow Harry, even if he doesn't give us a position as equals."

"It doesn't sound very good," she said.

Neville laughed. "No, it doesn't," he agreed. "But it doesn't have to. We all owe Harry, and he hasn't let us down yet, and that's all that matters."

* * *

><p>Harry had been disarmed by Dolores Umbridge.<p>

She couldn't get that thought out of her head. _How could she do that?_

The answer, and its follow-up question, came to her. _Why would he _let_ her d__o that?_

"I don't know what you did to my quill," Umbridge hissed at him. She flinched a little, one hand twitching to her stomach. "But I do know something you _won't_ be able to avoid."

She placed the portrait of Cornelius on the desk, face down.

Hermione understood first.

"No!" she yelled. "You can't! It's against the law!"

_Certainly no government official would actually use one of the Unforgiveables!  
><em>

"To defend law against lawlessness, it is sometimes necessary to bend the rules," the High Inquisitor said. "Often it takes such extreme measures to remind the people that _the government has power_."

She raised her wand. "And, after all, Cornelius runs the Ministry. Do you honestly think he'd prosecute me?"

She snapped it down to point at Harry.

"_Crucio_!"

The spell hit home, and Hermione waited for the screaming to begin. Next to her, Neville flinched.

Harry screamed, but it was mocking, not pained. "_Oh, Professor, it hurts!_" he exclaimed. Then he stopped, and simply stood there for a second.

"Oh, wait," he said flatly. "It doesn't. Never mind."

Hermione smiled a little. His humor was a little on the dry side, but she found herself appreciating it nonetheless.

Harry's wand came flying through the air - _wandless magic_, Hermione noted in awe - and rocketed into his hand.

"Let me show you how it's _really_ done," he said. His grin stretched across his face, showing hints gleaming white teeth. His face was shadowed, but his eyes and mouth seemed to glow ominously in the darkness.

Neville Longbottom bit his lip before his face locked down and became stoic once more. Luna Lovegood looked disinterested. And Hannah Abbott closed her eyes, but said nothing.

Harry raised his wand, as though conducting an orchestra, and then snapped his arms down.

"_Crucio_," he said in a whisper.

Dolores Umbridge screamed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Maybe more impressive than Harry's conversion of Hermione is Harry's conversion of Neville. Don't mind me copy-pasting bits of description from the main story, since I liked the way it read and didn't really want to change it.  
><strong>


	18. Static

**A/N: Lots of fun mixing real and imagined history here. Not quite as much fun as the Dementor Horde's history was, but close.**

* * *

><p>The Fudge family had once been the main suppliers of Honeydukes. Their chocolate products had become synonymous with a popular confectionery in the Muggle world, after a Squib attending Vassar College had shared the recipe with her schoolmate, Emelyn Hartridge. But their fortune had dwindled over the years as other families began manufacturing sweets at lower cost, culminating in the removal of the last Fudge sweet from Honeydukes stores in 1969, when the scion of the House of Fudge, Cornelius, was 5 years old.<p>

By the time Cornelius Fudge attended Hogwarts, the Fudges had completely fallen from grace - not quite as badly as the Gaunts, but the family name certainly held no respect without the gold they were used to accumulating from their products. So while previous Fudges were well-liked in Hogwarts, Cornelius had no such respect or popularity. As a Hufflepuff, a House known for its purported worthlessness, his station was lowered further in the social ranks.

Not that Hufflepuffs were worthless, of course, but the other students either bullied them or treated them with a sort of thoughtless condescension that was equally rude. And when Cornelius Fudge announced his intention to one day become the Minister of Magic, the response from the other students was that of disbelief. The name-calling had begun soon after.

"Who'd want Pudgy Fudgey as Minister?" students would laugh.

* * *

><p>He watched Dolores Umbridge as she was mercilessly teased by the more popular students. He knew that they were alike, two students on the bottom of the social ladder. He also knew that in order for her to be worth anything, she needed a backer, a Pureblood of a family old enough to have weight.<p>

He wasn't arrogant enough to believe in Pureblood supremacy, of course. He knew that Dolores was much more clever than he; he'd watched her read books thicker than his arm before. But the system was in place, and if it made him necessary to her success, he had no complaints.

"Can I sit here?" he asked her.

She looked at him, suspicion evident in her eyes. It was warranted; he'd often see random passers-by insult her for no apparent reason.

Eventually, she nodded, and went back to reading a particularly thick volume on 13th century Wizengamot rulings.

"I…I've heard what the others call you," Fudge said. "I want to let you know that you're not alone."

Dolores glanced up at him again. "What?" she asked, irritation seeping into her tone.

Now that he had her attention, he became bolder. "They call me Fudgey," he said.

"And what is your name?" she asked.

"Cornelius Fudge," he replied. "I'm a fifth-year."

"And why are you talking to me?"

"You're smart." Fudge gestured to the book she still had in her hands. "Really smart. But you don't have the political connections to get into the Ministry; your father worked for the Werewolf Registry, right? I'm higher up. You help me rise up through the Ministry, and I'll see to it that you rise up along with me."

She thought for a moment. "Fine," she said, and that was that.

* * *

><p>When he first met Lucius Malfoy, he didn't know what to expect. The Malfoy scion had a reputation as cruel, vicious, and cunning. It was also said that Lucius knew his friends, and rewarded them well. With a political alliance with the Malfoys and the scheming done by Dolores, his rise through the Ministry ranks would be nearly assured.<p>

"Mr. Malfoy," he began. "My name is Cornelius Fudge."

Lucius looked at him with slate-grey eyes. "Ah, Mr. Fudge," he said. "A pleasure."

"Quite," Cornelius beamed. "Would you mind if I were to be blunt?"

The smile on those thin lips told Cornelius everything he needed to know.

"I have political aspirations," Fudge began. "And I believe that you could help me rise through the Ministerial ranks...in exchange for some favors, of course."

"Of course," Lucius said. "I could. But tell me, why should I not simply take the position of Minister myself?"

Fudge took a deep breath. This was the gamble he'd prepared to make, why he felt he could rely on the help of the Malfoys - and all the myriad alliances of the well-connected family. "Because your leanings are well-known," he replied. "Those like Dumbledore would never support you. But I'm a neutral. Both sides know that I can be influenced...and as long as they think they can influence me, they'll support me, both Dark and Light."

Lucius smiled that thin smirk again. "Well said. I will aid you, in return for...an available ear."

"Very good," said Cornelius, exhaling in relief. "If you could go see Dolores Umbridge at some point in the future, I believe the two of you would get along famously."

* * *

><p>In 1990, Cornelius Fudge took office. He raised his wand.<p>

"I, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, swear to uphold the laws of Magical Britain, and to use my best judgement in exercising power relating thereto. So mote it be."

It was a simple oath, one that had been reduced through the years - Ministers of Magic would often die after changing their political views during their stay in office, for example - but with it, he began his six year reign over Magical Britain.

* * *

><p>"You're sure that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned?" he asked Harry Potter. They sat in an unused classroom, once Harry had been released from the Hospital Wing.<p>

"Oh, yes," the boy replied calmly. "I swore an oath to that effect, after all, and have suffered no ill effects."

"Yes, quite," Fudge said nervously. He remembered the years during You-Know-Who's reign of terror quite well. No political office was safe: either you were assassinated by Death Eaters, or you were sacked for not succeeding in an impossible war. If such a period were to resume, his position as Minister would be quite tenuous.

His initial reaction was to deny, insist that the story was the deranged rambling of an attention-seeking child. But Harry Potter was not lying; he'd even sworn an oath, something most wizards rarely did due to the gravity of the consequences of breaking a magically binding oath. Most wizards would not risk dying because they accidentally misspoke when swearing an oath.

"Well...we should work together," he finally said. "Strength through unity, and all that." The Triwizard Tournament was meant to be a political affair, not something as important to his future as the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He wished Dolores had come as well, so she could take care of the scheming. She was much better at the political manoeuvring than he was.

"No, I think not," Harry smiled, and Fudge did a double-take.

"What?" the Minister asked.

"I really don't think I want to work with you," he said. "In fact, I think that you really ought to resign."

"Why?" asked Fudge, bewildered. He didn't think he'd done anything to warrant this antagonism, had he?

"You're a good peace-time Minister," Potter said calmly. "But we need new leadership during what will soon be a time of chaos."

"Turning power over to someone else weakens the Ministry as a whole," Cornelius protested.

Potter smirked. "The real question here," he said, ignoring the Minister's last comment, "is whether you resign gracefully, or you are forcibly removed from office after the Boy-Who-Lived launches a public smear attack against you. After all, I have quite a bit of sway with the general public."

Fudge wasn't sure whether it was the threat, or simply that it had sunk in that Harry Potter was practically ordering him to resign, but he left his genial countenance behind when he shot to his feet. The bumbling mask he'd used to persuade Lucius Malfoy that he was simply a pawn fell away, and his face was stony.

"I am the _Minister of Magic_," he said. "I have worked my entire life to reach this station. It is _mine_, and you _will not take it from me_."

Potter smirked at him, as though he'd just won something Cornelius hadn't even known was being fought over. "Do you really think you can defeat Albus Dumbledore in the political arena?" he asked, and paused for a second. "We'll see," the boy finally said, and left the room.

* * *

><p>He entered Dolores Umbridge's office with a sigh.<p>

"What can I do for you, Cornelius?" she asked.

He flopped down on one of her chairs.

"Albus Dumbledore," Fudge sighed.

He knew Dolores hated the Hogwarts Headmaster. He didn't care why, the only thing that mattered was that she would be extraordinarily vicious in her attack.

"What is the issue now?" she asked.

"This whole He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named business," Fudge expanded. He held back some information - both in order to test her abilities and reinforce his image as a bumbling pawn. "He's trying to incite a panic, I swear. It's taking all of my effort just to keep the people from rioting, and he wants to prepare them for war or some such nonsense."

"Maybe that's what he's going for," Umbridge said slowly. "He was offered the job of Minister years ago…you only got it because he refused the appointment."

Cornelius flushed in embarrassment, but he continued her train of thought. "And now that You-Know-Who's back, he wants the job?"

"He might feel he's the only one with the ability to fight the Dark Lord," Umbridge said thoughtfully.

"Then we'll need to neutralize him," Fudge said, glad that they were on the same page. "My only worry is about Harry Potter. He's linked so closely with Dumbledore…"

"Never mind him, Cornelius," Umbridge said sweetly. "I've got a plan to deal with that problem."

* * *

><p>The trial of Dolores Umbridge took place after the Hogwarts school year had ended. A complaint by Neville Longbottom (who wasn't intimidating on his own, but whose grandmother had been said tointimidate He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself) led to an investigation, which revealed that Umbridge had cast the Cruciatus curse.<p>

He wondered at her lack of subtlety. Dolores was usually very good at finding legal loopholes for her more ruthless plots. To use one of the Unforgiveable curses was oddly outside of her modus operandi.

He began to put the pieces together when he saw Lucius Malfoy speaking to her before the trial. However, it was beyond his power to cease the proceedings, and he could do nothing but watch as Dolores Umbridge began her testimony. _Besides_, he thought, they had each other's backs. They'd done everything together since Hogwarts. This had been their dream, there was no way that Umbridge would throw it away.

"Minister Fudge ordered me to 'neutralize' both Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter," she said. "He's known me since I was in Hogwarts...and he had the power to replace me very easily, I was afraid..."

She continued, spinning half-truths in such a way that the veritaserum did not react but that painted Fudge in the worst light and Umbridge as an unwilling participant - a victim, even.

When the vote came, he watched with a sinking sensation as Lucius Malfoy and the collection of families that had always voted with him proclaimed Umbridge's innocence. He waited. He knew what was coming.

"Minister Fudge, we hereby call for your resignation," said Lucius Malfoy with that same thin smirk.

Fudge was not surprised at the nodding heads. For the first time since his election, both the Dark and Light factions agreed on something. He bowed, accepting defeat.

He stepped from his chair, passing by Dumbledore on his way. "Congratulations, Dumbledore," he said. "You won."

"My dear Cornelius," the aging wizard shook his head, "there was never any contest."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Pow! For once, a Fudge that is neither incompetent nor evil (really, I see Fudge as a character who just wants everything to stay the same, a truly neutral guy). And yeah, we finally see just how Dolores gets off scot-free. I'm not revealing details about the Cruciatus showdown yet, so the lack of information regarding Harry's Unforgiveable is intentional. And, yeah, Fudge thinks Dumbledore is the puppetmaster behind Harry, even to the end.**

**Next chapter might be a visit to an old POV or a new one, not sure yet. See you then!  
><strong>


	19. Strength

**A/N: 5,000 words in this chapter. I'm impressed with myself.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>From a young age, Narcissa Malfoy had been the odd one out amongst herself and her two sisters.<p>

Bellatrix was the oldest, and despite the fact that both their cousins Sirius and Regulus would inherit the position of the Head of House Black before she could, she threw herself into pureblood politics with a passion, spending hours in the family library, pouring over the ancient books inside, many of them penned by older members of the family.

Andromeda Black, the middle child, had been more similar to Bellatrix than either would have cared to admit, which Narcissa believed was the main reason why they couldn't stand each other. Andromeda had poured her passion and energy into the study of healing, eventually discovering Muggle science. It had only been a matter of time before the powder keg that was Andromeda Black exploded.

* * *

><p>"So, sister, reading the Muggle filth, are we?" Bellatrix tore the book from Andromeda's hands. "The Lancet? What is this?"<p>

"None of your business, Bella," Andromeda hissed, trying to take the book back.

"As your older sister, it _is_ my business," Bellatrix said. "And it's my responsibility to keep you from associating with those of lesser station." She tossed the book into the fireplace, where it was quickly consumed by flame. "It is obvious that I have been...lax...in my duty to maintain your decorum, sister," she continued. "As such, I will be ensuring that your-"

Bellatrix was cut off as Andromeda slapped her across the face. "You _bitch_," she said. "Trying to act like you have responsibility...well guess what? Either Sirius or Regulus will inherit the position of the Head of House Black, not you. You're just going to get married off to the highest bidder like a _whore_."

Narcissa shrank back in the corner of the room, trying not to be noticed.

"Sirius is soon to be disowned," Bella said in a strained voice, her left eye twitching. "And I've been making Regulus see me as more than a cousin. At least I'm not deluding myself - our parents have allowed you this fancy with the Muggle filth for now, but soon they'll grow tired of waiting for you to grow out of this delusion you have."

"Better a dreamer than a whore," Andromeda taunted. "And are you really running to Mummy and Daddy to save you? How pathetic is that?"

"Less pathetic than the Muggles!" Bellatrix shouted. "And I'm not going to wait for you to grow out of this phase! _Pervello_!"

Andromeda gave a small shriek as the minor pain hex impacted her arm, and Bellatrix's breathing grew slightly heavier. But Andromeda wasn't one to sit back and take it. She produced her wand quickly and retaliated. "_Torqueo_!"

Bellatrix let out a hiss and upped the magnitude of the spell, using an underpowered _diffindo_ to scratch her sister across the face.

"Enough, Bellatrix," came the voice of Cygnus Black. The two sisters stopped fighting and looked to the doorway. "We've told you two about using magic inappropriately at home."

"Yes, Father," Bellatrix said, her head hanging.

"Now what was this about?" he asked.

"Bellatrix threw my book into the fire," Andromeda blamed her sister immediately.

"She slapped me!" Bellatrix said at the same time.

Cygnus sighed. "Bellatrix, what you did was inappropriate and immature," he told the older sister. "You must be able to find diplomatic solutions to your problems if you hope to gain the respect of those around you."

He turned to Andromeda. "And Andromeda, while Bellatrix acted in a manner not befitting her station, her intentions were valid. You've been spending far too much time in the Muggle world. I know you idolize your cousin Sirius, but he is not the role model you need. Your mother and I have been supporting your dreams of learning Healing magic, but this Muggle obsession must stop."

"But, Father -"

Her father held up his hand. "No, Andromeda. Your future husband will not appreciate such affiliations, and it is your duty as a daughter to make yourself suitable for your future husband - any of your own leanings are at his discretion. This _is_ the way of things, and I will tolerate no dissension on this matter."

The smirk on Bellatrix's face set Andromeda off.

"Well then I'll choose a future husband who will appreciate such things!" Andromeda said.

"Young Lucius Malfoy is your future husband," Cygnus shook his head. "And I assure you he appreciates no such thing."

"I'm not marrying Lucy Malfoy!" Andromeda protested.

Cygnus's face went stony. "You are my daughter," he reminded her. "And you will obey me in this as in all things. I allow you much freedom, Andromeda, but that freedom is only at my discretion. You have been betrothed to Lucius Malfoy, and you will do your duty in this matter."

"I will not marry Lucius Malfoy," Andromeda said. "And if that means that I am no longer your daughter, then so be it."

She stood up and strode to the front door. Cygnus followed after a moment of stunned silence in time to see her open it.

"If you leave this house now you _will not_ be coming back," he warned her.

She had no response but to step over the threshold and close the door, leaving her family behind.

* * *

><p>Over breakfast the next morning, Cygnus told his wife what had transpired the previous night.<p>

"So what are you going to do?" asked Druella.

"She left this family," Cygnus said after a moment's thought. "She is no daughter of mine."

"I will inform Walburga this afternoon during tea," Druella nodded. "She can fix the family tapestry."

Narcissa watched silently before padding up the stairs and going into her room, falling on her bed, and starting to cry.

* * *

><p>Unlike her sisters, Narcissa had no grand aspirations or rebellions. She was a quiet child, preferring to watch from the shadows as events transpired. Unlike the dark green of Bellatrix's room (filled with bookcases and magical artifacts) or the white of Andromeda's (also filled with books and some Muggle tools that Sirius would bring and her parents would shake their heads over) her room was a bright pink color. She had stuffed unicorns and hippogryphs on her bed, and a collection of perfumes which she used regularly, even when she was staying indoors.<p>

Her closet was much larger than either of her sisters', and she had a collection of shoes on the bottom that was nearly so full as to escape the closet entirely.

When her parents cleaned out Andromeda's room, adding the magical books to the library and Vanishing anything Muggle along with the nameplate on the door, she sat in her room, watching. She couldn't believe that her sister was gone, and wasn't coming back. Didn't Andromeda love her? Didn't she know that Narcissa would miss her? Why would her sister cause her so much pain?

When she finally voiced these questions to Bellatrix (after a long night of staring at the empty room and crying) her remaining sister brought her into a hug. "It was the Muggles," Bellatrix explained. "They made her stop loving her family. It's all their fault."

And the fourteen-year-old Narcissa nodded, accepting the explanation. The Muggles had stolen her sister away from her.

* * *

><p>At seventeen, she married Lucius Malfoy. His father, Abraxas Malfoy, had graciously accepted the Black family's offer of Cygnus's youngest daughter in exchange for the middle one. She was understandably nervous - being several years younger than her husband meant that she hadn't seen him very much at Hogwarts, and only a few times during the summer.<p>

After the ceremony, she went into the bathroom to change. Her nervousness, which had died down during the actual wedding itself, reared up again. She didn't know what to do when it came time to consummate - what if he laughed at her inexperience? She'd been told that it hurt the first time, what if she cried? Would he be ashamed of her?

She put on the traditional nightwear, opened the door, and stepped into the bedroom, where she saw her husband waiting for her. He'd left his underwear on, and to her relief, she saw that he looked just as nervous as she did.

He stepped towards her, blushing lightly - she was amazed that the normally unflappable Lucius Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, was _blushing_ - and pulled her into a kiss.

And it was a _kiss_. Every thought in her head flooded away at the first touch of his lips, and she barely even recognized that he'd maneuvered her onto the bed. He climbed next to her, and nervously slid down his underwear.

She squeaked, and he flushed again. "It's so...big!" she exclaimed. "How the hell is _that_ supposed to fit inside me?"

She flushed as much as he had when she realized what she'd said, and then her already-wide eyes widened further when she saw evidence of further growth.

* * *

><p>It ended up hurting the entire time, but he tried to soothe her, and make it as pleasurable as he could. Still, she hadn't experienced the "explosion" Andromeda had once whispered to her about, blushing and giggling the entire time. Maybe her mother had been right during her less-enthusiastic lecture - maybe sex <em>was<em> just a chore she'd have to suffer through until she produced an heir for House Malfoy.

* * *

><p>The next morning, she couldn't stop staring at the blood on the sheets. Eventually she climbed out of bed, and winced at the soreness between her legs.<br>She turned and jumped when she heard a loud pop.

The house elf - Nobby, or something like that - removed the sheets and popped away again. Narcissa blushed at the thought that Abraxas Malfoy would soon be receiving proof of both the consummation and her loss of virginity. Both had been specified in the betrothal contract, and had either not been fulfilled, the Blacks would have been required to refund the bride price, while the Malfoys would have had the option of an annulment.

She stepped down the stairs to where Lucius was sitting at the table, eating breakfast. She took a step and hissed at the sharp jolt of pain, making him look up, then blush.

Narcissa could barely stop her own blush. Every time she looked at him, the thought would run through her mind: _I have had his penis inside me_.

"Are you...alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "A little sore," she said, "but nothing too bad."

"I'm sorry," he said.

She shrugged. "I was expecting it. Your elf took the bedsheets to your father."

"Good."

He lifted the Daily Prophet as though it were a shield behind which he could hide from his new wife. Narcissa was having none of it. From what she'd seen, Lucius genuinely cared about her well-being - he seemed sincere enough in his apologies for the pain of the previous night - and so she gently lowered the paper with an outstretched hand.

"Husband," she tested out the word on her lips. It felt right. "Do not hide from me."

He fixed his grey eyes on her face.

"Speak," she softly commanded.

"I feel guilty having enjoyed myself last night," he finally spoke. "You were in pain, but I...um..."

The phrase came to her from Andromeda's giggling talk. "You came anyway."

He blushed again - she seemed to be rather good at that - but nodded.

"I am told it will feel better," she said. Even if Andromeda had been wrong, she would still do her best to suffer secretly. There was no sense inflicting her discomfort on her husband in the form of guilt.

"You aren't angry?" he asked.

"No," she smiled at him.

* * *

><p>That night, when she encountered the "explosion" Andromeda had spoken of, she wiped all thoughts of suffering from her mind. There was no way her mother knew what she was talking about: sex was certainly no chore, not when pleasure such as this was available.<p>

* * *

><p>"The other purebloods are rallying around this Dark Lord," Lucius told her at the breakfast table. It had become their tradition to hold their important conversations here, together. Here Narcissa could express her opinions freely. Outside, it was important for their reputation that Narcissa played the demure housewife. Lucius would lose standing were he to be seen taking advice from any woman, even his wife.<p>

"You're worried?" she asked.

"Very," he admitted. "Some families - the Potters, Longbottoms, even Bones - have already declared themselves opposed to him. He's branded them blood-traitors and ordered several attacks on them, to rather large success. They're in danger of extinction."

Narcissa paled. To wipe out an entire family line was terrifying.

"Regulus Black has already joined," he added. "As have the Lestranges, even your sister Bellatrix."

Lucius's face twisted at the oldest Black sister's name. Unlike Narcissa, she publicly demanded her husband's obedience - and he gave it. Bellatrix had mastered the art of giving pain, and it was highly likely that Rodolphus Lestrange had felt her not-so-tender ministrations. Narcissa wondered if the consummation blood had even belonged to Bellatrix, or her husband had found himself donating.

Not that it could have happened to a nicer man - she'd heard him bragging about how he shared _everything_ with his brother Rabastan, and had felt sick to her stomach. They were both large, brutish men, and she shuddered at the thought of being married to either of them.

"Will you join?"

He shook his head. "I have no choice. The Dark Lord has a join-or-die mentality, and he's several times more powerful than anyone save Dumbledore himself. Even then I think they're evenly matched."

Narcissa nodded. "Protect our family at all costs."

Lucius sighed. "I only hope I can prevent him from conscripting you or our children," he said, looking at her stomach, and the recent bump which displayed her pregnancy.

* * *

><p>Lucius staggered to the front door and entered.<p>

"Narcissa," he managed to call, and his horrified wife could only watch as he fell to his knees, his arms and legs shaking horrifically. He retched, spraying vomit on the front steps of the manor.

She screamed, her mind barely registering the blood which stained her gown.

"He used the..._cruciatus_..." Lucius gasped. He looked up. "Are you...okay? Why are...you bleeding?"

* * *

><p>The miscarriage very nearly broke Narcissa. She was a train wreck emotionally, vacillating between what seemed to be blank emotionless silences and harsh, wracking sobs. The slightest thing would set her off, and while Lucius desperately wanted to help, he had no clue what to do.<p>

When he inquired about it at St. Mungo's, they informed him that she needed rest - that strenuous activity, such as socialization, would likely harm her emotional state further. Isolation was the recommended course of action, but his resolve to follow their advice lasted only as long as it took to apparate to the edge of the wards and walk up the path to the manor. By the time he saw her, he found himself entirely unable to even suggest the idea of isolation.

Instead, he found himself sucking up his pride and spreading his gold in order to find out the location of Andromeda Tonks née Black.

* * *

><p>"Narcissa?" he called into the house. There was no response. He walked through the halls, looking for his wife. Eventually he found her staring at a small mobile they'd planned to hang above their child's crib.<p>

"Narcissa," he said, stepping to her side and looking to see what she was staring at.

"It's all my fault," she said in a quiet voice.

"No," he denied, but she continued.

"I didn't - I didn't do something right," she said. "I killed my baby."

"You did everything right," he told her firmly. "There was nothing you could have done. Our baby is dead, and I am so, so sorry, but that is absolutely not your fault in any way."

She turned and threw her arms around him, clutching to him tightly as she sobbed into his chest. He patted her lightly on the back.

Finally her crying slowed.

"I talked to your sister," he said, then refined his statement. "Not Bellatrix. Andromeda."

Narcissa looked up at him questioningly.

"She recommended you go to some Muggle thing where a bunch of women talk about things," he said, then shrugged. "She called it therapy."

Narcissa frowned. "Muggle?"

Lucius sighed. "As distasteful as the idea is, you must see that you aren't getting better sitting around the house." He looked around. "Grief has its place, but neither should it be overwhelming. You need help, and if it takes the Muggles to get you that help, then we shall suffer through their presence."

"We?"

Lucius looked at her. "You didn't think I was going to let you do this alone, did you?"

* * *

><p>Lucius looked up as Narcissa came down the stairs and sat at the table. Her hair was messy, and she'd very obviously just woken up. He felt himself fall just a little bit more in love with her - which made what he had to say next more difficult.<p>

"My father is ill," he said. "Dragon pox. He...it will likely be over within the month."

His wife reached out and he smiled thankfully at her. However much Abraxas Malfoy was the proud aristocrat, he and Lucius had a deep filial bond, and Lucius knew he was truly going to miss the man.

"After he passes, I will be the last Malfoy."

He looked at her, and her eyes widened when she understood what he was saying.

"I - I don't think I can," she said.

"It's been four years, Narcissa," Lucius said. "I know that it was difficult, but the Malfoy line _needs_ an heir."

"I'm not strong enough!"

"You are!" he yelled, and then sighed. "I married you because our parents decided it, but I love you because you are _strong_. Even as your family splintered around you, you were able to cope because you are _strong_. Even after we lost our child, when most would have been _destroyed_ you held on through your grief because you are _strong!_"

She watched him silently, his breath coming out in pants after his impassioned speech.

"You are the strongest, most beautiful, most wonderful woman I have had the pleasure of knowing," he told her. "And I believe in you."

Narcissa looked at him. "I'll need your help."

"And you'll always have it."

* * *

><p>The wailing of the baby nearly drowned out the shrieking alarms. Lucius watched helplessly as his wife thrashed beneath the sheets, the pool of blood between her legs steadily growing.<p>

"We're losing her!" the medi-witch cried out. "She needs another BR!"

A blood-replenishing potion was poured down Narcissa's throat and she choked on it before her throat was massaged into swallowing the liquid.

Meanwhile the medi-witch continued to sweep her wand around, casting spells rapidly. "Status?"

"Orange," came the reply from the Healer whose job it was to keep an eye on the color of the health-monitoring charm set up on Narcissa.

"Better," the medi-witch grunted, not stopping her spell-work. "Another stabilizer!"

A purple potion was poured down Narcissa's throat and swallowing was again induced. Some color began to seep back into her body.

"Green!" the healer said.

As though he could tell that his mother's condition was no longer dire, the baby quieted.

"You're very lucky, Mr. Malfoy," the medi-witch said. "This was one of the hardest deliveries I've ever seen, let alone took part in. I cannot stress how dangerous it would be for Mrs. Malfoy to ever attempt pregnancy again."

"Of course," Lucius agreed. "Her safety is very important to me."

"Good," the medi-witch said, casting a diagnostic spell. "Your wife should wake up in two to three hours. If she doesn't wake within four hours or is in pain when she wakes up, tell one of the Healers."

"I will," Lucius agreed.

The medi-witch nodded, vanished the blood on her robes with a swift cleaning charm, and left the room.

Lucius looked at his sleeping wife, and then at the baby who lay in his arms, impossibly small and _perfect_.

"That's your mother, Draco," he said, and smiled.

The three-minute-old Draco Malfoy smiled back.

* * *

><p>"Narcissa," Lucius sighed. "You can't keep doing this."<p>

She looked at him.

"Draco's going to have to stand on his own sometime," Lucius told her. "He can't rely on us forever - and the way things are going, it's going to take something drastic to make him realize that."

"I know," she said, tears coming to her eyes. "But he's my boy - he's my only boy..."

And Lucius could only watch as the next week she sent a care package filled with sweets to their son at Hogwarts.

* * *

><p>She was surprised when he returned after his second year at Hogwarts. Draco had returned much more confident, brimming with a cunning which had before been overwhelmed by arrogance and reliance on his parents. Now it seemed as though the lesson had finally sunk in.<p>

"We were very lucky," he told them once they'd side-along apparated him to the manor. "Potter knew exactly who was responsible for slipping a certain artifact to the Weasley girl, an artifact that caused harm to one of Potter's followers."

"Potter?" asked Lucius. His son had previously reported a healthy fear of Harry Potter, claiming that the boy was distinctly not the light-sided Dumbledore sycophant that had been expected. "How?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't know. I barely managed to negotiate our survival."

The older Malfoys looked at each other in shock. "He - he was going to kill us?" Narcissa asked in shock. Aside from providing benefits to their social standing, the reasoning behind joining the Dark Lord was that Dumbledore was fiercely opposed to killing, while the Dark Lord had no such restraint. It was better to be hated by the Light families than murdered, after all.

"He was very eager to do so. I negotiated that I would act as his presence in Slytherin in exchange for our safety."

Lucius blinked. "This is very dangerous. If any of the old crowd suspect that we have allied ourselves with Potter, we might be facing their combined wrath, without any aid from Dumbledore and his lot."

"Potter is discreet," Draco shook his head. "I'm not sure how he ended up in Gryffindor, he's as Slytherin as can be. As long as you play your part, we should be fine."

* * *

><p>Narcissa met Harry Potter for the first time two years later, at the Quidditch World Cup. While she had no interest in the sport, it was a fantastic opportunity for Lucius to mingle, seeing as he'd been invited to the Minister's box, along with several foreign diplomats. His reputation should be improved quite a bit by attending.<p>

She was so involved in her study of the young man that she very nearly missed that he'd just nodded to Lucius.

"What was that?" she asked quietly enough as not to be heard by those around them.

"Confirmation," was all Lucius would say.

She put it out of her mind and returned to her study of Harry Potter. His eyes darted from place to place, too deliberate to be nervous. He held himself with a practiced thoughtlessness that she'd only seen in the posture of the Dark Lord the few times she'd laid eyes on him.

She didn't miss the way that Draco imitated the boy's posture, and smiled. Perhaps Potter was teaching Draco the art of subtlety? If so, it would only be good news for her precious son.

She relaxed into her seat and waited for the game to end.

* * *

><p>"The old crowd contacted me," Lucius told her once they'd arrived at their opulent tent. The Malfoys had money coming out of their ears, and he'd explained to her that money was no use unless it was used for something. Lucius was made powerful by his reputation, and the extravagant purchases further cemented his personality as a useful person to know.<p>

"Why?" asked Narcissa.

"They're planning on a get-together tonight," he said. "The Muggles are right there in the open, too tempting a target for them to resist. I notified Draco so that he could communicate this to Potter."

"The nod," Narcissa realized. "He's authorized this?"

Lucius nodded. "I should be back in an hour or so, once I've erased our trail."

He took the old silver mask and pressed it to his face. She'd hoped to have seen the end of the damned thing - the number of times he'd come home in full regalia, shaking and vomiting after repeated applications of the _cruciatus_ curse had associated some truly painful memories with the mask - but now she had to watch as he prepared to go off into the night once more.

"Be careful."

She imaged him smiling beneath the skull pattern in the silver.

"For you, anything."

* * *

><p>She felt as though she were in a trance as she made her way down the corridor of Saint Mungo's. The healers she passed gave her looks that were not quite pity - they all knew that Lucius Malfoy had attacked Hogwarts students at the Department of Mysteries, and escaped only thanks to the intervention of You-Know-Who.<p>

"Mother," Draco said as she came to the door. She noticed in the back of her mind that he seemed to be in shock, as she could find no evidence of grief.

"He's - he's in there?" she asked, and Draco nodded.

She opened the door.

On the bed, Lucius Malfoy lay, still twitching. The Healer on watch shook her head. "I'm sorry," she told her. "There's nothing we can do."

Narcissa took her husband's hand in hers. The blood still flowed from the multiple curses on his face, the stench of dark magic still lingering in the wounds. "Lucius," she said softly, her voice breaking. He twitched.

"Narcissa," he gasped.

She sobbed, clutching his hand in hers as tight as she could.

"He was so...angry," Lucius said. "Why would he be so angry?"

The hand clenched in hers relaxed, and Narcissa collapsed on herself, sinking bonelessly to the ground, still holding her husband's cooling hand.

* * *

><p>"You came to ask me for help, Narcissa?"<p>

Snape's eyes were cold and dark, and he fixed them on the blonde widow, ignoring her fuming sister. Bellatrix was unused to being ignored, and glared ineffectively at the Potions Master. Snape absently picked up his glass of wine and sipped from it, watching Narcissa. Lucius Malfoy's wife had not been seen by the Death Eaters very often, and he could see why. She had an aristocratic air, an elegance in her form, that would not have meshed with the coarser natures of the other servants of the Dark Lord. Lucius had been able to switch between grace and violence - Snape wondered if Narcissa would be able to do the same.

Narcissa looked up at him, her face eloquent with despair.

"Yes, Severus. I - I think you are the only one who can help me, I have nowhere else to turn. Lucius is dead, and..."

She closed her eyes and steeled herself, ignoring the tears seeping from beneath her eyelids.

"The Dark Lord has forbidden me to speak of it," she continued, her eyes still closed. "He wishes none to know of the plan. It is...very secret. But-"

"If he has forbidden it, you ought not to speak," Snape said at once. "The Dark Lord's word is law." He got up and strode to the windows of the house, looking outside. "It so happens that I know of the plan," he continued. "But had I not been in on the secret, you would have been guilty of great treachery to the Dark Lord."

"You know about the plan?" asked Bellatrix, her expression of distaste growing into outrage. "_You_ know?"

"Certainly," said Snape. "But what help do you require, Narcissa? If you expect me to persuade the Dark Lord to change his mind, I am afraid there is no hope, none at all."

"Severus," she whispered, tears sliding down her pale cheeks. "My son...my only son..."

"Draco should be proud," Bella said callously. "To be chosen by the Dark Lord for such a task is a great honor!"

"This is punishment for Lucius, isn't it?" Narcissa continued, ignoring her sister. "Tell me! For what offense does the Dark Lord continue to punish our family?!"

Snape shook his head. "I cannot guess the workings of the Dark Lord's mind," he told her. "But he _is_ our master, and we must obey, no matter our own reticence."

He reached out for her shoulder, continuing. "Faith, Narcissa. Have faith in the Dark Lord, and it shall be rewarded."

Narcissa slapped his hand from her and turned her back on the man, walking to the door.

"Draco cannot escape his duty to the Dark Lord," Severus said to her as she opened the door, and Narcissa turned around.

"Then perhaps another can help us," she said, glaring at Snape. "Dumbledore has a history of taking in strays, after all."

"Cissy, that's treason! You can't!" Bellatrix shook her head in denial.

Narcissa remembered Lucius's broken form, dying on the bed in St. Mungo's. She would save Draco from that fate, no matter what it took.

"There is _nothing_ that I wouldn't do anymore," she told her sister, and walked out the door.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was really hard to start and finish. I broke through the start by realizing that the shattering of the Black family would probably be a traumatic event that would shape its members, even those who didn't directly take part. The ending was recalling just how AWESOME chapter 2 of HBP was - seriously, reread it, I changed some things so as not to copy-paste but the original is a work of art. I found the closing line earlier in the story than my scene, but had to close with it because it's just too awesome.**

**I was surprised to see how long this chapter got simply because I am not female and therefore have little to no knowledge of pregnancy and other such things. Turns out that 1) my friends are a good source of knowledge, even when I'm asking really, really weird questions, and 2) I write a LOT more about things I don't know about than things I do.**

**Finally, we've got another death. One thing I didn't like about canon was how few major character deaths there were in the start and middle of the war - the major ones were all clustered at the end, where they were basically of no consequence whatsoever. Here, though, I'm trying to go for a more realistic war where people of importance die regularly, not just at the beginnings and endings of school years.**

**I think I can safely say that the next chapter will take a little while to write but won't be as long - maybe 3k words or so.**


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